Holding Onto Heaven
by thebarefootflapper
Summary: Tom can never forget the day Sybil came home from her first season with a ring on her finger and the promise of a life that he can never give her, but war has a way of changing things and the lines between passion and propriety soon become blurred. True happiness comes at a cost and hard sacrifices must be made for a future worth having. Written for the July 2014 fic bonanza.
1. Eveline

**_So, having been inspired by the 30 day Downton fic promts over on Tumblr, I've put together a series of drabbles and ficlets which will all be linked to form one complete story. I love series 1/2 AUs and I still think there are so many possibilities yet to be explored so this is one of them. Probably one big thing to note at this early stage is that my portrayal of Larry Grey is going to be quite different to the sort of general fandom impression of him - in this universe, he's not really a bad guy, but Sybil is by no means happy in her marriage. Hopefully you'll stick with me over the next month on this one p I'll try to update every day or in bulk if things don't move as productively as I'd like. The prompt for this first chapter is "novel" - Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p><strong>4th July 1921<strong>

She stands on the shores of the sea, stockings cast aside upon the sand as she stares out across the endless horizon. To the east lies home and the life she's long since left behind, choosing her freedom over accepting things going back to the way they once were before the war. America had drawn her like a moth to the flame - New York was bright and vibrant; the skirts were shorter, the morals were looser and the possibilities were endless. But Sybil Crawley's freedom had come at a price…

A hard sacrifice for a future worth having.

She had turned her back on everything - on her family, her friends, and the fight for the man that she loved.

She thinks of the tattered and torn copy of Dubliners that sits on her bookshelf, a treasured possession given to her by that same man for Christmas in 1916, of Eveline who had almost run off to Buenos Aries with her sailor beau. She wishes that she'd had the strength and the courage to escape with him when they'd had the chance but, like Eveline, there had been a sense of duty which had held her back. There had been too many people who needed her in the aftermath of everything that had happened, too many people on whom she had also relied…

And so they continued to keep it a secret, their game becoming more and more dangerous by the day until it had all become too much.

In the end, she had run away from it all and leaving him behind had been the hardest thing she'd ever had to do.

Her grandmother is throwing a lavish party in celebration of Independence Day but Sybil doesn't feel much like celebrating for this is a day that she faces with a heavy heart year after year…

For today marks the day that he died.


	2. Falling Slowly

**_The prompt for day 2 is "Wet" - it picks up in the aftermath of the count in 1x06 (one of my favourite episodes!)_**

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><p><strong>May 1914<strong>

He's been staring at the same page of his newspaper for what feels like hours, desperately trying to occupy his mind and banish all thoughts of **_her_**_. _

How could she have been so foolish?

Her little act of rebellion had almost cost him his job and, worse, potentially her life if Mr Matthew hadn't arrived when he did. Naturally, Lord Grantham's heir is being hailed as hero and he some raving lunatic. He never would have taken her there if he'd known what she was planning and he'd said as much to Lady Mary - the eldest daughter of the house just seemed relieved that her sister was home safe and sound (save for a thankfully minor cut to her head), but she'd warned him to prepare himself for the worst…

And so he had begun to pack.

When what little of his own personal belongings had been stored away, he had hung his livery ready for the following morning, boots and buttons polished to within an inch of their lives so that he could at least look decent and proper when he faced his fate come morning. That being done and sleep unlikely to come, he had sat by the fire, listening to the sound of the rain hammering against the roof of his small cottage and tried to read the paper.

He's about to give up when he hears a knock at the door and begins to panic that someone has come to deliver some awful news or asking him to fetch the doctor as she's suddenly taken a turn for the worst. Biting the bullet, he wrenches open the door and is rather surprised to see **her **standing there before him. She's still wearing the same clothes she wore earlier, blood staining her blouse close to her shoulder, absolutely dripping wet as the thin shawl she's covering her head with does little to keep her dry.

"Might I come in?" she pleads and, even though he knows it's grossly inappropriate, he doesn't have the heart to turn her away.

"Milady, why are you here?" he asks, taking her coat and hanging it to dry like any good servant would. "You should be resting."

"I know," she replies solemnly. "But I couldn't sleep… I had to see you. It was only when I got halfway here that I realised you might be asleep by now."

"I am usually."

Sybil hangs her head, somehow unable to meet his eyes. "I suppose that's partly my fault," she replies. "Though that's what I came to see you about… I needed to apologise before it was too late. I was a fool, I know I was, and…"

"Forgive me, milady, if I speak out of turn, but what the bloody hell were you thinking?!" he yells, regretting the words the instant they leave his mouth when he sees the startled look on her face. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to shout… I'm not angry with you. I thought I was, but I'm not. You just… I thought I could have lost you."

What she does next takes him completely by surprise as she steps into him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry," she says, burying her face into his chest. "So very sorry… I've been a fool."

He manages to gently push her away, almost forcing her to properly look at him. "That you have," he says. "But you're safe and that's really all that matters… so much more than my job does."

Sybil shakes her head. "You're not going anywhere, he promised me… I told him that it was all my fault and that you knew nothing about him."

"Your father still wants to see me tomorrow."

Sybil sighs. "I know it's hard for you, but just try to stand there and say nothing."

Tom laughs. "Are you mocking me?"

"Never."

He realises now that he probably should have offered her a blanket or at least something to help dry her off. Droplets of water drip down from the loose strands of her hair and, almost instinctively, he reaches out to brush one from her cheek, his hand lingering longer than it should. Surprisingly, she doesn't flinch but instead leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as she savours this new found intimacy. When she opens them again, the way he's looking at her sends a shiver down her spine and she knows that she's lost in him. She's always thought him handsome but now it's becoming apparent that a silly juvenile infatuation runs so much deeper…

And never has the desire to kiss him been so overwhelming.

Her breath hitches as he leans forward, gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back again, and she knows that he wants it too. It would be so easy to give in to the temptation, but then she's never kissed a man before and she's not entirely sure what to do. Her heart is pounding, hands shaking and damp with sweat…

And then he pulls away.

"I think the rain's stopped," he says, making smalltalk so as to diffuse the now palpable tension.

Sybil nods, looking away from him in a desperate attempt to try to hide her disappointment. "I… I should go," she says, crossing the room to retrieve her coat from where he'd hung it earlier. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, milady."

She pauses just as she reaches the door and turns to face him again with a smile that melts his heart. "Oh and, thank you… for saving my life."

And, with that, she's gone, leaving Tom all alone once more with only his thoughts for company.

"_You bloody fool_," he thinks to himself. "_You're playing with fire and you're only going to end up getting burnt._"


	3. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**_The prompt for day 3 is "Teatime" _**

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><p><strong>June 1914<strong>

The family might be away, but that doesn't mean that these past few weeks have been something of a holiday for him too. If anything, Tom feels as though he's been busier than ever having been drafted in to assist with various manual tasks around the house and across the estate. More than ever, he savours those few precious moments mid-afternoon when he can take a break and peruse the day's news with a well earn cup of tea.

He'd come to Downton long after the family had returned from London last summer and so he hadn't known just what their absence would entail, but neither could he ever have anticipated his blossoming friendship with the youngest daughter of the house. She'd usually come down to see him around this time of day and, truth be told, he misses her. She's even taken to using the same old teacup which now sits on the shelf gathering dust (he'll have to give it a good clean before she comes home) and he knows exactly how she likes it - taking tea with Lady Sybil Crawley has become as much a part of his routine as brushing his teeth in the mornings.

What would his Mam have to say about that?

He flicks through the paper, almost skipping past a double page spread filled with columns covering the Season, but a small photograph in the bottom corner catches his eye. There are a few other names prefixing hers in the caption, but only one that he cares about:

_The Honourable Miss Imogen Belasis, Lady Beatrice Hamilton-Evans, and Lady Sybil Crawley awaiting presentation to their majesties at Buckingham Palace._

She looks so beautiful, even in the slightly grainy black and white picture, but he knows that it won't do her justice - she will look radiant and positively glowing with excitement. Sybil may scorn much of the protocol and practices society demands her to adhere to, but her debut season is something that she has been looking forward to since she was a girl, and who is he to begrudge her that?

Sybil loves to dance, he knows this from observing her at the servants' ball just after the new year. Feeling like a shy schoolboy at a family wedding, he'd plucked up the courage to ask her for a waltz - something simple that even he couldn't mess up - and, from that very first moment he'd held her in his arms, he'd known that he was falling for her.

Tom sighs and quickly turns the page. He's being completely ridiculous, for she'll no doubt be being pursued by numerous eligible bachelors, charming young gentlemen of good breeding and social standing that her parents would approve of…

In short, men who aren't him.

The night of the Ripon incident, of their **almost** kiss, still fogs his brain. The memory of the way she'd looked at him, of how she hadn't shied away from his touch, almost haunts him and, in a way, he's almost ashamed of himself - she's so young, not much older than his own sister, so far above him and deserved so much more than any life he could give her.

And he knows that he has to let her go.

Not that she's even his to begin with, and a woman (especially one such as Sybil) should never belong to a man, she is not a possession, but he has to put an end to this infatuation before he ends up giving his heart to her so wholly and completely.

It would be hard, but it would be impossible for anything more to come of this - if, by some miracle, she returned his feelings then their life together would be dogged by scandal. She would be disowned by her family, his own might even turn their backs on them, and they would truly have nothing but each other.

And would that be enough once the honeymoon period wore off?

With a weary sigh, Tom finishes the last of his tea and decides that it's time to get back to work - he'd once promised her that he wouldn't always be a chauffeur, but even then that will never be enough. He loves her and, because of that, he knows that he has to let her go…

So, for the first time in his life, he will simply say nothing.


	4. A Hard Sacrifice

**_The prompt for day 4 is "future" - I know all of this may seem out of character, but the idea I'm playing with is the notion of asking what could have happened if both Sybil and Tom had realised their mutual feelings for each other much sooner than in canon but didn't have the courage to pursue it. Thank you for all your comments so far, this is an epic task I'm undertaking (trying to update everyday whilst having a full-time job working from 9 until 6) and you're kind words will really help me through it. Please stick with me, even if you're afraid of what the coming chapters may bring._**

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><p><strong>June 1914<strong>

Violet is the last to come and see her, as has become something of tradition on the eve of each of her granddaughters' balls. It almost saddens the dowager to know that this is the last of such occasions but, at the same time, it signals the beginning of a new era and soon enough she suspects that there will be a new generation to follow.

She adores each of her granddaughters (though will never express her affection out loud) but has a particular fondness for Sybil which stems from the similarities with her younger self. Sybil is full of joie de vivre and sees so much beauty in the world - and that was Violet once, before she was widowed young and never seized the opportunity to begin again.

She just hopes that Sybil (or any of them for that matter) never has to endure such sorrow.

The reason she had come up was to deliver a very special item - a beautiful diadem worn by every deb on her side of the family since her grandmother's coming out - but also to have a very serious conversation and to offer some words of wisdom.

"Mary said that I should expect to see you," Sybil smiles as she admires Anna's handiwork with her hair, the diamonds fitting easily into place before the maid is dismissed by Violet. "She says that you gave her a telling off."

"Hmph," Violet replies from her place seated on the end of Sybil's bed. "I did nothing of the sort. I merely advised that she perhaps… rein things in a little. Perhaps you've noticed, but your sister rather enjoys the attention of men and her ball was really the first time she'd been allowed to indulge in such a pleasure."

Sybil laughs. "How she's changed," she smiles. "Now I think the only man's attention she's interested in is Cousin Matthew's."

"They'll be engaged before the year is out, mark my words," Violet replies and it's her own way of admitting that Sybil is right. "But I'm not hear to talk about Mary. I'm hear to talk about you, though matters of the heart do have something to do with it."

"Granny?"

"Lord Merton's boy has spoken with your father," she says. "I wanted to tell you so that it doesn't come as a complete surprise should he decide to propose."

"Larry?" Sybil asks with disbelief. "Larry Grey wants to marry me?"

"I don't know why you're so surprised. You've always been close."

Sybil stands and begins to pace the room. "I know, and I am fond of him…but to actually marry him? I'm only eighteen, it's absurd!"

"But is it? My dear, nobody is asking you to walk down the aisle tomorrow morning, but whilst I may not be as well versed in current affairs as you, I do know that there could be a war coming. If and when it does, many of the young men you dance with tonight will go but how many of them come back is uncertain," Violet tells her. "There are worse places to be mistress of than Harringham… and it will bring less scandal than eloping with the chauffeur."

Sybil turns to face her grandmother abruptly, eyes wide with shock like a deer caught in the headlights. "I… I don't know what you're talking about," she says, trying not to get flustered as a blush creeps across her cheeks.

Violet gives her **that** look and Sybil knows that there's no point in lying anymore. "Yes you do," she says. "Because I've seen it… the way he looks at you, the way you return his smiles and a touch that lingers longer than appropriate. I am observant, Sybil, it's where Edith gets it from which is why I notice these things… and also because I understand how it is to have feelings for somebody… inappropriate."

"You do?"

"I wasn't much older than you are now and it was the summer before I married your grandfather. He was the blacksmith's son and, needless to say, there always seemed to be some problem with my horse's shoes."

Sybil laughs at her grandmother's honesty - it's so unlike her to be this candid, and she could never have thought that she would ever have dreamed of something like this. "What was his name?"

"It's been so long that I can't remember," Violet replies. "But the point is, my dear, that this sort of thing is all very well in novels and whilst I'm sure that Branson has many virtues, it has to end now."

"There's nothing to end," Sybil says. "We haven't kissed or anything, I don't even think we've held hands…"

"Good," Violet interrupts. "And make sure it stays that way or you'll end up with nothing but a broken heart. Marriage is a long business and scandal will only make it much more turbulent."

Violet leaves her alone then, giving her a moment or two to compose herself before she makes her entrance. As much as it hurts, Sybil has to admit that her grandmother is right. Throwing caution to the wind and confessing her feelings for Tom - her confidante and dearest friend - perhaps even running away with him sounds terribly romantic and adventurous, but she knows it cannot be. Gossip would spread, the rumour mill would churn and they would be outcasts. Her family would abhor the idea and God only knows what his own would do to them. It wasn't fair and he deserves so much better than that - Tom is one of the kindest, affectionate and all around wonderful men she has ever had the privilege to meet and he deserves a wife who can give him all the things that she can't.

And as for marrying a man like Larry Grey?

It's true that they have been close since childhood - he's a few years older than her and he'd been a frequent visitor to Downton during the summer months on account of the fact that his father is Mary's godfather and such. He was an Oxford man, intelligent and studious, though athletic in that he's a rower for the college team and a keen polo player to boot. He doesn't engage her interests or challenger her intellect as much as Tom does, but conversation is still easy, he's charming and handsome (again, not as much as Tom)…

But, if she's ever going to be truly happy, then she has to stop comparing him to Tom.

He hasn't even asked her yet, but in her mind she already knows that she should probably say yes - it wouldn't be out of duty necessarily, but Granny's right when she says that who knows what the next few months could bring. War is on the horizon and there might not be many men left to choose from when it's all over.

Sybil takes a deep breath as she studies her reflection in the mirror - even she has to admit that she looks rather pretty and she'd always thought that this moment would make her feel like a princess. Instead, she feels terrified.

Her childhood is behind her now and the future beckons - the world is on the precipice of change and Sybil's life with it. She has grown up in the blink of an eye, so fast that even she seems to have missed it. There are monumental decisions and hard sacrifices to be made for a future worth having and the ones involving Tom will be the most difficult of all…

"_Let him go… let him be happy._"

Love will come with time but a scandal will never fade.

And both of them deserve so much better than that.


	5. All's Fair in Love and War

**_The prompt for day 5 is "bombs" - This might actually a first for SxT fic in that we see actual genuine nice guy Larry Grey. I understand why he's always painted as the panto baddie by many of the writers in this fandom but behind every good villain is a good back story. Mine is that he wasn't always this way and that surviving the war unscathed gave him a sort of bravado and acting the way he does is his way of dealing with the things he saw. Maybe that's just me and the fact that I'm always willing to give the bad guy a chance (well, 9 times out of 10) or just because I felt like doing something different with this particular character. Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p><strong>July 1916<strong>

He stands almost one deep in the mood and the blood, the shit and the entrails and "_yet more fucking mud._" Like many, he'd always pictured hell to be all fire and brimstone but now he knows different…

Hell is the battlefields of northern Europe.

The foul stench of death follows him everywhere and he swears he feels it's cold hand on his shoulder every time he prepares to go over the top. Despite the bravado, he's scared - terrified, in fact - but he'll never admit to it. He can't, for the sake of his men who look to him for courage and leadership. Perhaps the memory that haunts him is of a young German boy dying in his arms - he'd wheezed and gasped for breath and begged for mercy. It was sobering, perhaps the first moment he'd realised that these people weren't the enemy - they were men just like him when it really came down to it, with wives and sweethearts, siblings and parents of their own, fighting for king and country and a better future for their children and grandchildren.

That had been the first time he'd cried.

He'd been sat in his dugout, the other officers he shared with out patrolling the lines or seeing to their own men, and he'd dug out the last letter from home. It was from his wife - a woman he's come to realise that he's taking for granted - and it keeps him sane. It gives him hope that there is still a life waiting for him when all of this is over and the very thought makes him want to keep fighting. He'll be a better man, a better husband and one day, God willing, it will make him a better father. He admits that she'd been a trophy wife - that pretty young thing he could show off to turn his peers green with envy. She'd looked beautiful on their wedding day, every inch the blushing bride, smiled radiantly as she'd charmed the crowds at Ascot last summer when he'd been afforded a few precious days of leave.

And as for the way she makes love to him?

He thought she'd be shy and timid, and perhaps she was at first, but this fair English rose has blossomed under his touch.

But does she **actually** love him?

No, she doesn't and that much is obvious.

He'd often wondered if it was that Belasis boy whom she'd taken a fancy to, but his engagement to the eldest daughter of some peer of little importance had thrown a spanner in the works and so she had settled for him.

But then he'd realised that the object of his wife's affections was much closer to him.

That grubby little chauffeur.

He'd asked her outright one night when they were visiting her parents if there was anything going on, how he'd do the noble thing and not drag her name through the mud if there were. She'd looked him straight in the eye and promised him that there wasn't and he'd never know that sense of deja vu she felt having had this conversation with her grandmother little over a year earlier.

And he believes her.

He believes her because he thinks he's starting to love her.

And that's a realisation that hits him harder than shellfire.


	6. I Want Never Gets

**_The prompt for day 6 is "socks" (blink and you'll miss it, but it's in there) - I've barely even begun and this project is already exhausting (though work is crazy right now and I think that might have something to do with it - lawyering is tough) so thank you all so much for your kind words of encouragement, I could use a few more like them if I'm to find the motivation to plough through the rest of the month. This chapter jumps back in time again and we return to 1914 - now that you know Sybil married Larry, I want to use the next few chapters to explore the implications for everyone's favourite cross-class couple from the engagement up to Larry leaving for the war. As always, enjoy and please let me know what you think (and also tell me if you think I'm mad for doing this) :) x_**

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><p><strong>June 1914 <strong>

When Tom was a boy, he'd developed a particular fondness for a kitten he'd come across in the stables at his grandparent's farm. It was ginger, with two white socks on it's back paws, and the runt of the litter which meant that it had needed a little bit more love and attention. He needn't have worried though, for the thing was wildly adventurous and he'd begged Da to let him take it back to Dublin with him.

Needless to say, his request had been denied.

That was the thing about Tom, he had a tendency to get attached to things he knows he can't have.

It was Gwen who'd let the secret slip - some of the kitchen maids had seen the pictures in the paper and the gossip columnists were linking her to Lord Merton's son and heir. They'd asked if it was true they were to be married to which Gwen had replied that it wasn't her place to say, though the shy smile and the blush on her cheeks had given it away.

He'd found some excuse or other to get outside for some air then, praying to all the angels and all the saints, anyone who would listen really, that it wasn't true. He runs a hand thorough his hair, fingers tangling in the pomade, as he lets out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding and has to laugh at just how selfish he sounds. He'd made a vow at the start of the summer that he just wanted her to be happy and if this makes her so then he just has to let it be.

But it had still hurt when she'd come home and his worst fears had been confirmed.

The obscenely large diamond glitters in the dim light of the garage where he works late into the night and it's a sickening reminder that he was nothing more than a lowly servant who, despite his ambitions, was probably destined to stay as such until he was old and decrepit. As for her? Well, she was a princess…

No, more than that.

A goddess.

And she deserves to be treated as such.

"Congratulations," he says with as much sincerity as he can muster. "I'm happy for you."

"Are you though?"

He turns his back on her, cleaning his hands on an oil stained rag, his pause a little bit too long and uncomfortable for Sybil's liking. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Tom…"

The sound of his name on her lips for the first time finally makes him look at her - she looks so hopeless, so afraid and it breaks his heart. "Do you love him?"

"I…"

"Sybil, look at me," he pleads. "Do you love him?"

Unsure how to respond, Sybil takes a leaf out of Mary's book and, drawing herself to her full height, she narrows her eyes and glares at him in a way that would make lesser men quiver with fear. "I… I really don't see what business that is of yours," she says. "But, if you must know, we make a good match and he makes me very happy." She regrets the words the second she opens her mouth but it's too late to take them back now - she's not Mary, she's Sybil and she's being far too harsh on her dearest friend.

She's hurt him, she knows he has, but she has to if she's truly to let him go.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, tearing her gaze away from his as she tries not to cry. "That was rude of me."

"No, you're right, **Milady**," he interrupts, the use of her title like a bitter poison or a harsh barb that cuts deep. "It's none of my business at all. Now, if you don't mind, I think you should leave… I don't think your fiance would approve of where you spend your evening."

Sybil says nothing, for no words will come no matter how hard she tries and, instead, turns her back on him and does exactly as she's told.

He wants to run after her, to beg and plead with her and tell her that he's sorry, but they've both said some hurtful things tonight and he honestly doesn't know if there's any way of coming back from this.

And Lady Sybil Crawley's heart is just another addition to the long list of things Tom Branson can never have…


	7. A Pair of Star-Cross'd Lovers

**_The prompt for day 7 is "ruined" - I was really looking forward to writing this chapter but exhaustion is getting to me so I don't think I;ve done it as much justice as I wanted to. I'm so sorry if I'm tearing your hearts out but it has to be done. Like I always say though, have faith and stick with me. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p><strong>November 1914<strong>

They seem to be avoiding each other like the plague, their path's only crossing in the line of duty and even then they barely acknowledge each other's presence. He pretends not to listen when she discusses wedding plans with her sisters in the back of the car and she pretends not to see when his hands will grip the steering wheel a little tighter, the leather of his gloves stretched taut across his knuckles.

They both hate what their friendship has become, but it has to be this way.

He's helping to unload the endless crates of champagne that have been delivered to the house for tomorrow's gathering - a spectacle truly befitting an Earl's daughter and a future countess to boot - when she finally manages to catch him alone.

"I've caused quite the kerfuffle, haven't I?" she laughs nervously, trying to diffuse the palpable tension.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he replies, setting down another box. It may be close to freezing outside, but he's forgone his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves and yet the cold doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "Nor should I think the last."

Impulsively, Sybil's hand finds his from where he's resting it on top of the stack of crates. Instinct tells him to turn his palm, to let her fingers entwine with his like they haven't done before. It's a gesture that feels so natural and, before he can even give it a second thought, he's lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Her breath hitches and she swears she feels her heart skip a beat - Larry has kissed her countless times, but never has she felt any of the things she's always thought you're supposed to feel when kissed by a man.

Yet she knows it would be different with Tom.

Not for the first time, she wants to know how it feels to give in to those deepest fantasies, to know how it feels for him to hold her close and know him only as a lover could.

She wants him to ruin her.

"I am sorry… for all of it," she says, unable to hold the words back any longer.

"Come to me tonight," he pleads, his voice little more than a whisper. "I have to see you one last time before…" he doesn't finish his sentence, unable to bare the thought of losing her forever.

"Alright," Sybil replies, the temptation too much to resist. "I'll be down after dinner, or at least I'll try to be. Will you wait?"

"I'd wait forever."

**_-xxx- _**

True to her word, Sybil manages sneak out to the garage close to midnight. She wraps her coat tighter around her as she runs as fast as her heels will allow her, the adrenaline coursing through her veins at the possibility of getting caught. True to **his** word, Tom is still there, waiting for her just like he said he would.

"You came," he says at the sight of her, standing there breathless in the doorway.

Sybil smiles prettily. "Did you ever doubt that I would?"

"A part of me did, but I didn't want to believe it… and I was right."

She runs to him then, flinging her arms around his neck like she had the night of the count what feels like a lifetime ago now. She pulls away slightly, though still remaining close enough that their noses brush with the slightest of movements.

"Yes, she says," knowing in her heart what comes next. "Yes you can kiss me, but that is all because everything is settled."

'Well then God knows it's enough that I can kiss you."

And kiss her he does.

Sybil was right - this is **exactly** how she'd always imagined it would feel. His kiss consumes her, body and soul, and she rises up on her tiptoes in some desperate attempt to get closer still to him. An age seems to pass by before she realises how wrong this all is and remembers just why she's spent the last few months avoiding him…

Because this is only going to end in heartbreak.

"I'm sorry," she says, pulling away breathlessly. "I can't do this… it's not fair.'

"And you marrying a man you feel nothing for is?"

"That's not true… I'm very fond of Larry and you know quite well that I am."

"Fondness doesn't strike me as an ideal foundation for marriage," Tom replies. "I would have thought that love should have at least something to do with it. I could love you… I do love you…"

She brings a gloved hand up to his chest, right above his heart, and meets his eyes again. "I know… but then you are blessed enough to have the freedom to marry for love. Women like me aren't afforded that luxury."

Tom scoffs. "Well you seem to have everything else you could possibly want…"

"I know, and I'd trade it all in a heartbeat if it meant that I could burn all of my bridges and run away with you tonight."

"Are you saying that you love me?"

The silence is deafening as she takes a moment to muster the courage to give him her answer. "Yes."

"Then call it off," he begs. "Tell them you can't do it, that you won't do it. I can't give you much, but we'd be happy…"

"But is that enough?" she asks. "Granny once told me that this sort of thing is all very well in novels, but this isn't a fairytale, Tom, and there's no use pretending that it is. Besides, there isn't just us that we need to think about. What about our families? My sisters would be ruined and… why are you smiling?"

"Because that's the first time you've ever spoken about** us**."

"And, as much as I hate to say it, I think it will be the last."

"So that's it then, you've made your choice?"

"I have," replies Sybil. "Though please don't even think that it was an easy one. I do love you, and it's because of that that I have to let you go. Promise me that you won't stay here, that you'll get away from this house and away from this life one day… please don't give up on your dreams."

Tom rests his forehead agains hers and sighs wearily. "**You** were my dream… but then that's all we ever were in the end."

"I wish it were different, than in another life I were brave enough to love you freely. There's someone out there though who can, but she's just not me."

He kisses her again then, lips lingering on hers as their fate is sealed and their story comes to an end…

At least for now.


	8. Lady In Red

**_The prompt for day 8 is "red dress" - it's another Larry-centric chapter, quite dark and so it would have been quite easy to make it quite disturbing towards the end but I decided to steer clear of that in the end. Once again, thank you for your kind word of encouragement so please enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p><strong>January 1915<strong>

Tonight she wears red.

Red is a warning. Red is danger. Red is the colour of passion, of seduction and sin.

In red, she draws attention to herself and he's not sure that he likes it.

She's dancing with her cousin - soon to be brother-in-law - and her smile is bright and cheerful as ever as he spins her about the room, but that's not what concerns him.

What concerns him is the way that damned chauffeur can't keep his eyes off her.

Even Larry will admit that jealousy is one of his biggest faults, stemming from his boyhood insecurities spurred on by the fact that his younger brother always seemed to be the favourite and as such he can be possessive over the things that he has managed to claim as his own. He can't say he really approves of Sybil's fondness for those employed to serve her - he is by no means unfair to them, but they are there to do a job and not to make friends.

But he looks at her differently.

He looks at her as a lover would.

He knows from their wedding night that Sybil had been a virgin, but he is no stranger to knowing that there are more ways to be intimate with a woman. He's tried to convince himself that it's paranoia talking, remembering just how shy and timid she'd been at first and the way she'd cried afterwards when she thought that he was asleep…

He needs to know once and for all if their marriage is based on nothing but a lie.

**_-xxx-_**

It's not until the early hours of the morning that they retreat to bed, for Sybil loves to dance and it feels like so long since she last saw her family that she hadn't wanted the night to end. He watches her as she sits at her old dressing table, brushing out her hair and leaving it unbound about her shoulders and down her back just the way he likes it. She's wearing that same silver-grey nightgown she'd worn on the first night of their honeymoon - the satin one with the thin straps - and she looks positively ethereal in the dim light of the gas lamp.

"The chauffeur has to go," Larry says, seemingly out of nowhere.

"It's not his fault the train left early," Sybil replies, referring to their completely disastrous trip from Harringham two days earlier.

Larry shakes his head. "Not Jenkins. Branson."

"That's hardly your decision now, is it?" she teases, though her husband clearly doesn't see the funny side. "Oh, what has he done now?"

"I'm going to ask you once and once only," he says seriously. "Have you ever had any romantic attachment to him?"

"I… no… of course not," she replies, though she knows he can tell it's not entirely true. "Perhaps I had something of a crush when I was a girl, but it was nothing more than that… a juvenile folly at most if anything at all. But I'm married to you now, I chose **you**… and isn't that all that matters?"

"Then promise me you'll never see him again."

"I can't, he's my family's chauffeur…"

"You know that's not what I mean."

Sybil sighs as she climbs into bed beside him. "I do wish you'd have more faith in me."

"Oh I do," Larry replies. "More than you know… which is more than I can say for certain other people."

**_-xxx-_**

He leaves his mark on her when they make love that night - a bruise-like blemish on her ribcage just below her right breast, making her come so hard that she has to bite the pillow to stifle her screams…

He makes sure she knows who she belongs to.


	9. The Age of Innocence

**_The prompt for day 9 is "chimney" - another blink and you'll miss it one I'm afraid, but this one was hard. I think this pretty much wraps up this 'stage' of the story. Next we move on to Larry's wartime experiences and what it means for Sybil to be left home alone._**

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><p>When the sisters were young, it had been a tradition to hang their stockings on the mantlepiece on Christmas Eve. Even when Mary and Edith were quite grown up, it continued until Sybil was thirteen and then all childish notions seemed to be discouraged. The stockings themselves had been beautiful and had displayed some of the girls' earliest attempts at embroidery (closely guided by their mother, of course) and, perhaps for the first time, Sybil notices just how empty the fireplace seems without them. She adores Christmas, but now much of that innocence has been lost and things just aren't the same anymore.<p>

She wonders if Mama would give her the stocking so she can hang them at Harringham when her own children come along. She isn't pregnant, nor does she even suspect that she might be, but it's only a matter of time really.

And, after what Larry's told her tonight, it's a thought that fills her with dread.

He's joining up.

Tact isn't really one of her husband's strong points and he'd brought it up in the same way as one might just mention their to visit a relative for tea a week on Tuesday. She'd had to ask him to repeat himself, for she hadn't really believed what she was hearing.

And then she'd gone absolutely ballistic.

It was their first proper row, filled with yelling and tears (mostly hers) and she has to walk away before she says something she regrets. The library has always been her place of solace, a place where she can lose herself in great love stories and epic adventures - whenever she was sad or just in need of a moment to herself, se could always be found her.

"I don't want to talk about it, Larry," she says, not even looking up from her book as somebody else enters the room.

"Well that's alright then, because it's me."

Recognising her sister's voice, Sybil sets her book town and looks at Mary apologetically. "Sorry, she says, "I'm not the greatest company right now."

"So I heard… lover's tiff?"

Sybil sighs. "More than that. He's joining up."

"What?" Mary asks in disbelief, sitting down on the settee beside her. "Why?"

"He thinks it's his duty. All the men in his family have served in the army for generations… he feels it will be his way of proving he's worthy enough to succeed his father."

Mary shakes her head. "How awful," she says. "Especially when he has so much to live for. I think Isobel and I have just about managed to talk Matthew out of it."

"You really love him, don't you?"

Mary smiles and blushes prettily - a rare site seen by few save for her closest confidants. "I do rather."

"I envy you."

"Mama and Papa weren't in love when they married," says Mary reassuringly. "But look at them now."

"I know, but I just thought my story would be different."

"You always were the romantic one," says Mary. "Just have faith, and I'm sure everything will be alright in the end."

All Sybil can do is just hope and pray that she's right.


	10. Man's Best Friend

**_The prompt for day 10 is "dog" _**

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><p><strong>April 1915<strong>

The bloody dog's gone missing.

She's managed to get out and nobody has seen her since and a search party has been organised. Preoccupied with other matters, Sybil has somehow managed to get lost from the rest of the group, finding herself alone in the dark somewhere in the woodlands that lie just beyond the house. As child, this place had been her playground but now it's damn near impossible to navigate in the dark.

She spins on her heel, slipping on the damp ground as a batch snaps behind her.

"It's alright… It's only me."

The sound of Tom's voice calms her and she suddenly doesn't feel quite so lost anymore. "You frightened me," she says, bringing a hand up to her rapidly beating heart. 'What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you are," he replies. "Looking for his lordship's dog?"

"Oh, of course… Isis is still a reckless pup, she still hasn't quite learnt to do as she's told yet."

"Bit like you then."

"Are you comparing me to a dog?"

"No, of course not… I just meant…"

And then she laughs.

It feels like a lifetime since he last heard that sound, for she seems to have mellowed in recent months and he wonders if her marriage to such an odious man gives her much cause to laugh. It's infectious, and he can't help but smile.

"I've missed you," he confesses. "So very much."

She smiles shyly at him in the darkness, just about able to make out his profile in the dim light of the lantern he carries. "And I you, perhaps more now that Larry's in France or Belgium or God knows where."

"You haven't heard from him."

Sybil shakes her head. "Not for a while. I'd expected it to be this way, but it doesn't make the not knowing any easier."

"I don't like the thought of you being left all on your own," Tom replies as he moves closer to her.

"I'm not on my own," replies Sybil. "Not entirely. I mean, it's not as though I had many friends to begin with so it doesn't make that much difference really."

Tom furrows his brow and sets the lantern down on the ground. "What about me?"

"You were always more than a friend to me and you know it."

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"I haven't… it's just… well, I haven't seen my family very much lately and so I'm spending as much time with them as I can. I'm not avoiding you at all, it just doesn't feel as though I have enough hours in the day to do everything that I want."

"Then why don't we make time?" he asks.

She can't help but laugh. "Because it's dangerous. Things are different now…"

He holds up a hand, silencing her as his gaze turns to the trees behind her. "Did you hear that?"

They both fall silent but, when nothing comes, Tom thinks he must be hearing things.

"There," Sybil suddenly points out. "Like scratching…"

"And whimpering. Do you think it's the dog?"

"Only one way to find out… come on."

She follows him into the darkness, towards the sound of what they're sure is the missing hound.

"Careful, it's a bit…" He doesn't even get chance to finish his sentence, Sybil loosing her footing as they navigate the steep slope. She tries to steady herself by reaching for his arm but it's all in vain and she only ends up bringing him down with her, the two of them landing with a _thud_ on the damp ground.

Tom sits up with a groan. "Are you alright."

"My ankle hurts," Sybil replies. "But I'll live."

Behind them is a small and somewhat dilapidated shed, probably belonging to the gamekeeper or someone like that, and the whimpering seems to be coming from behind the door. "Wait here," says Tom as he gets to his feet. "I'll let her out and then I'll come back for you."

"Oh, Tom, I'm hardly an invalid," she says.

"Do as you're told, you'll only make it worse," he say, taking off his scarf and draping it around her neck to keep her from catching a chill in the unseasonably cold weather. Before she even has time to argue back, he's over by the shed, shoving at the door with his shoulder in a display of strength she can't help but find rather… alluring.

Isis barks happily at the prospect of finally being let loose, and bounds over to her fallen mistress. "Where have you been, you stupid dog?" she asks, fussing the pup behind her ears just the way she likes. "Come on, let's get you home."

"Isis! Isis!"

She barks again at the sound of her master's voice from somewhere behind the trees, giving Tom a moment to help Sybil to her feet. She's leaning most of her weight on him which seems to give her father some cause for concern when he finds them at last.

"What on earth is going on?"

"I was lost," she tells him. "Branson found me… and then we found Isis but I fell and… well, I'm alright, I suppose. We both are."

Robert narrows his eyes at the chauffeur, still having not forgotten what happened little over a year ago. "You found her."

'I did, milord."

"It's funny that my daughter always seems to end up injured when left in your care."

"A coincidence, Papa," Sybil replies bluntly. "And a strange one at that. Now, can we **please** just go home?"

Robert nods his head in agreement, pretending not to notice that Sybil is wearing an article of clothing not her own…

Whatever this 'coincidence' is, it has to end.

**_-xxx-_**

He finds her in the library the following afternoon, sitting by the fire with her bandaged ankle resting on the pouf as she reads.

"I hope it's not too bad," he says, not really feeling bad about disturbing her solitude (God knows she's done it to him enough). "I feel like it's partly my fault."

"Knowing my luck, it probably would have happened regardless," she replies with a smile. "It's nothing serious. A slight sprain and should be fine in a few days as long as I have the patience to sit still long enough."

Tom chuckles. "So it'll be a few weeks then. You're not really very good at this staying put thing."

Sybil laughs and only then does it really occur to her that he is perhaps the one man, the one person really, who truly understands her. "They're all out, you know," she says… if you wanted to sit and talk a while."

"I'd like that," he smiles. "I'd like that very much."

It's far from perfect, but it's enough to start putting the fractured shards of their relationship back together at long last.


	11. Playing With Fire

**_The prompt for day 11 is "toaster"_**

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><p><strong>September 1915<strong>

The hallowed halls of Harringham still feel cold and empty compared Downton's grandeur. She's virtually home alone this week; Lord Merton is up in Scotland on a shooting weekend and her brother-in-law is back at Cambridge. There's been no word from Larry and she can't help but worry about him - her letters go unanswered though she tells herself it's nothing unusual given the circumstances.

She still writes to Tom though, and each of his letters comes back longer than the last.

It's amazing that they still have things to talk about, but he offers a different perspective to life at Downton than she gets from her parents or her sisters, and there's always some drama unfolding in the newspapers for them to get their teeth into.

She lies back in bed, dark hair fanning out across the pillows, his latest letter resting against her chest, right above her heart as she sighs wearily. She is by no means unhappy, for there are so many women less fortunate than she, but this isn't exactly how Sybil envisaged marriage. War changes things, this she understands, but she had hoped that he would have at least waited for the call if and when it came, that he too would have wanted to relish in the joys of being newlyweds and the freedom it afforded them…

But, as it turns out, his love for King and country is greater than his love for her.

If anything, theirs is almost a marriage of convenience of sorts but that doesn't really make the loneliness any easier to bare. With this thought, an overwhelming desire to feel close to her childhood consumes her and, taking Tom's letter with her, Sybil crawls out of bed and wanders the hallways until she finds herself in the kitchen.

The servants have long since gone to bed and it's a couple of hours yet before the scullery made will be up to light the fires. When she and her sister's were young, Carson would often make them toast on the old range stove whenever a thunderstorm would wake them or Mama and Papa were having a party that they weren't grown up enough to go to yet. Eventually, they'd learnt to make it themselves and they'd quite often meet for a late night snack whilst the rest of the house slept.

Mary and Edith might not be with her now, but there's a comforting nostalgia as Sybil sets about her task. The new gadgets had taken some getting used to, but she thinks she's just about mastered it. She reads over Tom's letter once again as the bread toasts and, for the first time, she's almost scared and unnerved by the emotions they evoke. She'd once told him that she loved him, but then she loves Larry in a her own way too…

But was this different?

Was she **in** love with Tom?

Of course not, she's a married woman… a **happily** married woman.

Or at least that's what she keeps telling herself.

The smell of burning fills her nostrils and she jumps to her feet, cursing as she tries to salvage the toast. The irony isn't lost on her - how easy is it to loose sight of things for a moment and to have them start to turn to ashes.

She can't let that happen. She won't let that happen.

Without a second thought, Sybil tosses Tom's letter into the fire of the stove, watching as the flames lick at the paper and dissolve it into nothing. She's lost count of how many times she's told herself to forget him and everything they could have had if the world would have allowed it.

But she knows what the consequences will be if she allows this to get out of hand.

If she plays with fire, then she's only going to end up getting burnt.


	12. A Dream of Spring

**_The prompt for day 12 is "cricket" - more Larry at war, set just a day or so after the previous chapter in which we visited him here. One of the other themes I'm playing with other than Tom and Sybil not being brave enough to do what they did in canon is the idea that she and Larry are actually more fond of each other than they think (as in she doesn't think he loves her and vice-versa). I think it creates quite an interesting dynamic because, as I've said before, Larry is always painted as the panto villain in most SxT stories and I'm always up for trying something new. That being said, I think there's a difference between loving someone and being IN love with them which, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, is Sybil's constant struggle throughout this story. I'm not sure if there are many of you who are enjoying this story or even still reading for that matter but, if you are then, then please let me know what you think. I promise that there's a dramatic twist in the tale to come soon enough! :) x_**

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><p><strong>July 1916<strong>

He shouldn't be here.

This has all been one catastrophic mistake.

The sun has set on what he strongly believes will be his last day on this earth. His commanding officer has delivered a fatal blow in revealing the plan tomorrow - there's going to be a great push, they're going over the top and right into the heart of an unrelenting German offensive.

He walks through the lines, watching as his men go about their evening activities - some of them drink tea, others see to their kit or share stories of home. It's in these twilight hours that they can briefly forget where they are, when they can pretend just for a moment that they're far away from here and just be normal men doing normal everyday things. They don't think about what tomorrow could bring and so they choose to live in the moment. He's told them that they're going over so many times now, but yet this feels harder than any of them. He knows the name of every single man he's lost and he's made a seemingly impossible vow that he won't add any more to that list….

But what choice does he have?

He shouldn't be here.

None of them should.

It's only then that he remembers that it's supposed to be summer - the first week of July if memory serves him correctly - as it's easy to forget here, when all it ever seems to do is rain. He'd been so keen to run off to join the war as soon as he could, not really giving much though to the sacrifices he would have to make in doing so. He might never see another summer - teaching his sons and nephews to play cricket on the lawns of Harringham whilst Sybil, proving to be a fine Countess of Merton, entertains the great and the good of high society. They might have a girl too, he supposes, as beautiful as her mother though hopefully not as rebellious as a teenager. No, he will raise his girls properly and make sure they're not led astray by the such silly follies as trouser frocks and feminism.

God willing, Sybil might even be pregnant now, for it had certainly been an _eventful_ few days during his short leave a couple of weeks earlier.

But then how unfair is that to leave her alone with a child if he's to die tomorrow?

She won't be alone though, not really, because she'll have her family and his too he supposes…

But not him.

Whilst it may be a pessimistic thought, it's also a sobering one and he realises just how much has gone unsaid. In the days since it dawned on him that he might be more fond of Sybil than he'd always thought, he's been trying to find the words to tell her how he really feels.

_My dearest Sybil…_

_ My darling Sybil…_

The words feel almost alien as he studies them on the paper. She wouldn't believe him, would she? She'd see them nothing more than the sentiments of a man condemned to death - maybe she'd even be glad to be free of him…

No, Sybil isn't capable of such a thing, even if she doesn't love him the way she always imagined loving a husband.

In the end, he starts with simply '_Sybil',_ for just the sound of her name on his lips conveys more than just some generic term of endearment.

He writes until dawn, the words coming far easier than he could have imagined and, just like his boys, he forgets about this hell and allows himself to live that dream of spring. It's only when the call comes the following morning that he realises he hasn't yet slept - not that it matters though for, after today, he'll sleep for the rest of eternity.

He leaves the letter with his will, hastily scribbled in the back of his pocketbook in which he bequeaths everything to Sybil and their children, and once again assumes the mantle of a brave and fearless Captain, ready to lead his men to victory…

Or at least that's how the story will be told.


	13. The Hero's Welcome

**_The prompt for day 13 is "motorbike" - special shoutout to theyankeecountess, who's binge read/reviews have kept me amused all evening. I'm so excited about the chapters for tomorrow and Friday in which MASSIVE drama ensues but, for now, have more of Sybil living in denial to tide you over. Angst ahoy. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p><strong>June 1916<strong>

"What on Earth is that?" asks Sybil, eyeing up the… machine… that her husband has arrived home on the back of.

"It's a motorbike," Larry replies, proudly showing it off. "What does it look like."

'Don't get smart with me," she chides, taking his arm as they step back inside. She'd had no idea that he was going to arrive in Downton unannounced, let alone that he'd even had leave in the first place. "How long are you home for?"

"A day or two at most," he tells her. "I saw father in London yesterday and left first thing this morning… believe it or not, I have missed you."

"Heavens, how dull things must be in France then."

She gasps as he pulls her close, looking at her in a way that he's never really done before. "Don't tease me, **wife**," he says with a smirk. "Your husband is a hero."

Sybil bites her lip, trying not to laugh as she plays with the buttons on his greatcoat. "Then he deserves a hero's welcome…"

"Will they miss us?"

"Not for half-an-hour or so."

"Half an hour? I've been away for months and all I get is half-an-hour?"

"Then you can make those months up to me," she replies. "But, right now, it's half-an-hour or nothing at all."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

**_-xxx-_**

She's got that dreamy, far away look on her face and it doesn't take a great deal of imagination to know why. That husband of hers had turned up out of the blue yesterday and he can't help but feel jealous of the fact that she was with him last night instead of down here in the garage before dinner.

Aggressively, Tom continues to work on the bike that _Captain_ Grey had brought home with him. It's a stunning piece of machinery, but he can't ignore who it belongs to.

"Don't tell me you're besotted by that monstrosity too," she finally says, perched on the running board of the car as she stirs her tea.

"Don't be mean," he replies, looking up at her with a smirk. "She's beautiful."

"**She**?" Sybil laughs. "Would you like me to leave the two of you alone for a moment?"

"Don't be daft."

"You're as bad as Larry is… and Matthew for that matter," she adds. "You should have heard them at dinner last night fawning over the damn thing."

"You're being mean again. She can hear you."

"Good."

"I think you've been spending too much time with Lady Mary… you're starting to sound just like."

"And you're getting impertinent," she teases.

"Forgive me, **milady**, I seem to have forgotten my place."

She brings her cup to her lips and tries desperately to maintain her haughty persona and not to laugh, instead focusing on watching him work. His collar is open and shirtsleeves rolled up in the oppressive summer heat - he is strong and handsome and there's oil on his skin, more tanned than hers on account of all the time he spends outside during what little free time he has. Larry has become more muscled and toned since he joined the army, but he doesn't carry it as well as Tom does and she has to stop the illicit thoughts she's been having about her best friend from creeping into her mind…

Especially when making love to her husband.

She'd be lying if she said that she hadn't fantasised about Tom, particularly in those early days of marriage when she'd wanted nothing more than to love and be loved in return. Sex though is one of the few aspects of her marriage that Sybil knows she certainly enjoys and last night had almost been enough to make up for those crippling months of loneliness…

Almost, but not quite completely.

"Branson!"

"_Shit_!" she thinks to herself, almost diving behind the motor so as not to be seen when she recognises Larry's voice calling out to Tom.

"Sir?" Tom replies, getting to his feet and trying to make himself as presentable as possible in the circumstances.

"Is the bike ready yet?"

"Almost," he says. "I found what was causing the rattling, but it just needed a general tune up to make it good as new again."

Larry nods and Sybil knows this is as close to a "_thank you_" as Tom will get from him. "Good, but just make sure it's done by this evening. I leave for London first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'll do my best, Sir," he says. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"That'll be all for now, Branson."

"Very well, Sir."

Tom sighs once the Captain is out of sight and holds out an oil stained hand to Sybil. "You shouldn't have to hide from him, you know," he says. "He's your husband."

"I would have hidden regardless of who it was," she replies. "You know quite well that nobody likes me being down here."

"I like you being down here."

"That's different," she says and takes hold of his hand - his palm is rough and calloused, but his grip is strong and he lifts her effortlessly. "Then again, I suppose it would be the same if I were a housemaid or something."

"Not if Mr Carson had anything to do with it," replies Tom. "But I think Mrs Hughes might be a bit of a romantic soul deep down inside."

Sybil giggles. "You and I both know that she's really the one in charge."

Tom can't help but laugh. "You said it, not me," he says. "Though, don't tell anyone, but I think you're right."

Sybil looks down then and only then realises that she's still holding his hand. "He made me promise not to see you again."

"What?"

"Last new year, the night of the servant's ball. He asked me if we were having an affair… of course, I said no, but then he made me promise that I'd never see you again."

"And did you."

"Evidently not."

He takes hold of her other hand then and runs his thumbs across her knuckles. "What kind of life are you living, Sybil?" he asks. "Are you even living at all?"

"I don't know," she admits. "I think I am, but then maybe I'm merely existing… the war has complicated things more than I could have imagined."

"Are you sure it's just because of the war?"

"Of course. What else would it be?"

"The fact that you're still in love with me, perhaps?"

Sybil pulls her hands away then and turns her back on him. "Must we really keep having this conversation?" she says. "That's all in the past now, it has to be… why are you still here, Tom? Why do you put your dreams and ambitions on hold? Is it because you hope that, one day, I'll change my mind and turn up at your door, announcing that I was wrong all this time and that I'm ready to turn my back on it all?"

"Yes."

His honesty cuts through her heart like a knife and never before has another human being bared their soul so openly to her. "Then perhaps you are the one who is merely existing."

It's a harsh thing to say, but it does the job and, once again, she is hurting him to save him.

That being said, fate is playing his cards close to his chest and the next hand he deals with have catastrophic consequences for all involved…

And she will be the one hurt most of all.


	14. The Unthinkable Sin

**_The prompt for day 14 is "battle stations" - I'm sorry about this. I really am. It was hard to write and I'd just like to make a disclaimer that I don't condone this sort of thing, but sometimes you just have to for drama's sake..._**

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><p><strong>July 1916 <strong>

The silence is deafening, the night hauntingly still and the tension palpable as the hours pass slowly by. Two people, hundreds of miles apart, sit alone in the dark and battling their own demons as dawn begins to break.

For one, the war is about to end.

For the other, it's only just beginning.

**_-xxx-_**

He stands at the foot of the ladder, whistle poised between his lips, revolver in one hand and pocket watch in the other as he counts down the seconds. Synchronicity is key and he tries to focus on getting this exactly right whilst, at the same time, just remembering to breathe…

His heart is racing, thumping against his chest as the moment draws nearer.

And nearer.

And nearer.

And then finally here.

The shelling starts the second they start to climb and all around him men are being hit before they even make it over the top. His instinct tells him to run as fast as his feet will allow him, to keep pushing on forward and never stop until he makes it to the other side.

A blast knocks him to the ground and he lands face first in the mud, making a fatal mistake in holding out his arm to break his fall. He feels his left wrist snap, exactly how it did when he fell from his horse as a boy only, this time, his mother isn't here to kiss it better or have cook make ice cream to make the pain go away.

Larry scrambles to his feet, spitting out the foul taste of blood and dirt as he carries on running, arm hanging limply at his side making him thankful he's not using a rifle. Through the rain and the chaos, he catches his first glimpse of his destination - the German trench on the other side of no-man's land - and maybe, just maybe, survival isn't the impossible dream he thought it might be…

**_-xxx-_**

Hundreds of miles away, safe in the splendour of her family home, Sybil sits on the floor of the library, staring into the dying embers of the fire as she struggles to succumb to seep. Something doesn't feel right, though she can't quite put her finger on just what that is. It's unnerving, unsettling and she doesn't like it one bit.

And the only thing she can think of is that Tom might have something to do with it.

They've had yet another row and a catastrophic one at that.

His papers had arrived this morning - the call has come for him and he's to leave for war same and hundreds and thousands of others up and down the country. She'd only found out because she'd just happened to hear Carson mention it to her father at breakfast this morning (she's never really been one for the privilege of breakfast in bed her status as a married woman affords her) and both men had looked at her as she'd almost spilt her coffee in shock.

Naturally, shed sought him out to confront him about it.

And when he told her his plans, she had gone ballistic, mores than when Larry had revealed his own intentions.

Now she isn't sure if it's the fact that he hadn't told her himself or if it's the thought of losing him forever that had hurt the most.

And there's really only one way to know for sure.

She knows where her father keeps the whisky - the good and strong stuff reserved only for special occasions - but it's been so long since he had caused to celebrate and pour himself a glass that she doubts he'd even notice that some was missing.

Dutch courage, isn't that what they called it?

**_-xxx- _**

She's mastered the art of sneaking out undetected and, once again, her feet take her down the familiar path towards the chauffeur's cottage. Whilst she rarely visits him there, Sybil thinks that she much prefers it to the garage - it's not much, but he's managed to add his own personal flourishes, and it's very much a space that reflects the Tom that only she really knows and loves…

**Loves**… oh how she wishes she could disassociate Tom Branson from that word.

But, try as she might, her heart just won't let her.

Her heart stops when he answers the door - his hair is dishevelled, there's stubble on his chin and he's still in his shirtsleeves. She opens her mouth to say something but the words won't come.

"You'd better come in," he says for her, voice hoarse from sleep, drink or disuse - which one, she's not entirely sure.

Sybil steps in through the door, wrapping her coat around herself as she suddenly feels incredibly exposed dressed only in her thin nightgown.

"I'm sorry," he says before she's even had the chance to start on her own apology. "I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier…"

"I deserved it," Sybil replies sadly. "But I was hurt and upset… I was rude to you and I said some things that I shouldn't have. I've been quite awful to you a lot lately…"

"And why's that?"

She looks into his eyes then, her own shining with tears as she tries not to cry. "Because I've been desperately trying to get you to despise me, or at least never want to speak with me again… I've purposely being trying to hurt you to put an end to whatever this is between us. But now that I'm faced with the very real possibility of losing you forever, I've realised that I don't want that… I don't want a life without you in it."

"Why?"

"Oh Tom," she sighs. "Do I really have to say it?"

Tom shakes his head. "No, but I want you to."

She swallows hard, mustering the courage to find the words to tell him how she feels. "Because…. because I still love you."

Two long strides is all it takes for him to be able to be close enough to pull her into his arms and kiss her like she's never been kissed before…

**_-xxx-_**

He almost trips again as a hand grabs his ankle, but he somehow manages to regain his balance and twists his body to point his pistol at his assailant. The face of one of his own men looks up at him, or at least what's left of the face as half his jawbone seems to be missing, pleading with him to end it all and save him from this hell.

His good hand trembles as his finger finds the trigger and time itself seems to stand still as contemplates doing the unthinkable.

He can't do it.

No matter how much he wants to.

And so he keeps on running.

He thinks about turning back, of dragging the boy up and out of the mud and carrying him back to safety - he's heard about what they can do for the poor buggers with wounds like his and this doesn't necessarily have to be the end for him.

But instead he chooses the cowards way.

He chooses to save himself.

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil, on the other hand, has chosen to sacrifice herself.

She has sacrificed herself to her desires, to her lust and passion and given into him at last. What started as a kiss has ended with the two of them naked on his bed, succumbing to their mutual pleasures in a way that has been an inevitable eventuality of their unconventional relationship.

She's on top of him now, tossing her hair back over her shoulder as he sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her so impossibly close as they continue to move as one body, one soul and as one complete person at long last.

Of course, this single entity has a single conscience, one that they try to ignore as it screams out just how wrong this is.

Whore. Adulteress. Slut.

Those are all the things that they'd say about her if anyone ever found out that she has been unfaithful to her husband and dishonoured her family.

She's never really understood why some women seek comfort in the beds of others, at least not until now. She now knows that they can be so desperately lonely that it makes them unhappy, and it's just so easy to find someone who might actually care…

And, just for a moment, she can't hate herself for it.

**_-xxx-_**

He'll tell her about the girl in Paris.

If he makes it out alive, he'll tell her that he was unfaithful to her - she'll inevitably hate him for it, because how could she possibly understand the hell that drove him into the arms of another woman?

He'd been consumed by guilt in those few days he'd last been on leave and just thinking of how happy they'd been on that lazy Sunday morning when they'd forgone attending church with the rest of the family and chosen to stay in bed instead.

That whole weekend, one of the happiest of their whole marriage, had been built on a lie.

He's going to survive this, he's sure of it now, and when he does he'll do everything he can to be a better husband.

But, as the bullet hits him square in the chest, it becomes clear that he's getting ahead of himself…

**_-xxx-_**

She'll have to tell him.

If and when he ever comes home, she'll have to tell him that she's been unfaithful. She wont say with whom because Tom deserves that much at least. Perhaps she can say it was someone whom she knew from her first season killed in the war.

But then that's just another lie.

And this isn't who she is.

Tom's head drops to her shoulder as he tries to regain control of his breathing. She shudders violently in his arms as a sudden chill takes hold of her and he looks at her with concern.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I don't know," replies Sybil. "I just suddenly felt terribly cold."

There is most definitely something very wrong, more so than the sins she's committed tonight…

One man's war has just ended. One woman's is only just about to begin.


	15. Icarus

**_The prompt for day 15 is "blue sky" - Thank you for your comments regarding the last chapter. I'm so glad you understood where I was coming from and the reasonings both of the Grey's have for doing what they did. This isn't going to turn into a story about adultery though, but you'll hopefully see from the coming chapters that the guilt felt following what happened affects Sybil in particular. I know she's not particularly likeable right now, but that's sort of the point. She's going on a journey and is learning and growing in a different way from that we saw in canon - circumstances are different and, naturally, so is she. Anyway, I'm waffling now which probably has something to do with the fact that it's almost 2am and I only had about three hours sleep last night (British summertime is so wonderfully humid), so please enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p>The sisters had been devastated when the family horses were sold to the army, but it had been their father's view that it was their duty and their way of contributing to the war effort - the Crawley's had been breeding fine horses for years and the British deserved the best if they were to be victorious. A few had remained behind, mostly those too old and whom were to be put out to pasture, and a couple of foals too young to be broken in yet.<p>

It was one of these that Sybil had become fond of, a beautiful chestnut coloured stallion named Icarus whom she'd practically helped Lynch and the stable boys to rear. When the time came for him to be saddled and mounted at last, she seemed to be the only person he'd allow anywhere near him. It had taken time and a great deal of patience, but it had been worth every second.

Icarus is fast - faster than any horse she's ever rode before - and she truly feels like she's flying as they race across the sprawling estate. Sybil has taken to riding astride, having commissioned a pair or riding breeches to be made by her dressmaker shortly after Larry had left (and there hadn't really been anyone else left to tell her what she could and couldn't do), and it's so much easier to push herself to the limits and not have to worry about falling.

How apt, it seems, to have chosen a horse named Icarus. Icarus was warned not to fly too close to the sun, but he hadn't listened and had fallen to his death.

Sybil too it seems has flown too close to the sun.

Even now, she still feels Tom's touch burning her skin - especially when she lies in bed alone at night with nothing but her thought for company - and his searing hot kisses had set her very soul alight.

It had been so dangerous and, true to her word, she hadn't done it again.

But she is in grave danger of falling.

A black cloud hangs over her, a blot on the landscape and the otherwise clear blue sky as she arrives in the village, slowing the horse to a gentle walk as residence whom she hasn't seen in such a long time smile and wish her good day.

"Excuse me, Miss," an unfamiliar voice calls to her and she looks down from the saddle to see a young officer, a military police officer by the looks of the distinct red covered cap tucked under his arm. "Could you tell me which way it is to the Abbey?"

"Follow the road straight ahead for another mile or so," she tells him. "You can't miss it."

"Thank you," he replies, though his mood is sombre and it fills her with unease.

There's only one reason the military police could have business at her house and the consequence doesn't even bear thinking about.

She turns Icarus and spurs him back into a swift gallop, taking the well known shortcut back to the estate.

She needs to see him, to warn him and make sure that he's alright.

**_-xxx-_**

Just as she'd prayed, he's there in the garage as he so often is at this time of day.

"Oh, thank God," she says at the sight of him, bringing her hand to her rapidly beating heart as she tries to catch her breath.

Tom furrows his brow and turns to face her - she's muddy and dishevelled, face flushed on account of riding into the wind and it worries him that there's something wrong.

"What's the matter?" he asks as she practically runs towards him, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. "What's wrong."

"A military police officer asked me for directions to the house," Sybil replies. "After the way you reacted to your call up, I feared the worst… I thought they'd come from you."

"I promised you I wouldn't do anything stupid, didn't I?" he sighs. "Not anymore… besides, they declared me unfit for active service."

Sybil looks up at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Something wrong with my heart, apparently."

"Oh, don't give me poetry now…"

Tom chuckles, suddenly becoming aware of how perfectly they fit together when she stands close to him like this, the top of her head the perfect height to sit just under his chin. "No poetry… I just can't remember the name they gave it. Too much waffle."

She can't help but smile at that but, to her ear, the one pressed against his chest, his heart sounds just fine…

She's not so sure about her own.

**_-xxx- _**

She walks slowly back up to the house, heading in through the back door to the servants' quarters as she usually does on her way in from the stables.

"His Lordship's looking for you, milady," Anna tells her as they encounter one another in the hall. "He's in the library."

Sure enough, she finds her father where the maid said he would be and that sickening feeling of unease comes over her again as he looks at her with pity in his eyes. Only then does she realise that he isn't alone…

Because standing by the window is the same officer who had asked her for directions not an hour ago.

"I'll give you a moment," Robert says quietly, touching his daughter's shoulder almost reassuringly as he passes by.

"Lady Sybil," the officer says. "I didn't know that it was you in the village earlier, forgive me if my calling you _miss_ was impertinent."

Sybil shakes her head. "You weren't to know… I'm not particularly fond of the title anyway."

Smalltalk. It's all smalltalk.

The officer swallows hard, toying with a small envelope he holds in his hands almost nervously. "I was at university with your husband," he says. "We were good friends and he asked… well, he asked that I should be the one to tell you if it ever came to this."

"Came to what?" Sybil asks, though she thinks she already knows the answer.

"I regret to inform you that Captain Lawrence Grey was killed in action on the fourth of July. You have my deepest sympathies"

She flew too close to the sun and, sure enough, she's found herself falling into oblivion at last...

This is all her fault.


	16. Keep Calm and Carry On

**_The prompt for day 16 is "broken clock" _**

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><p>Time itself comes to a stop, and not just because the clock on the mantlepiece is broken (she's rather surprised Carson hasn't noticed that already), as he brain struggles to process the information she's just received. She doesn't know how long she's been sat there alone since Larry's friend - Joseph, she now knows his name to be - had to take his leave and return back to his barracks and she barely even registers the presence of my father.<p>

"Oh my dear girl," he says. "If there's anything I can do?"

Sybil shakes her head. "No," she replies. "Would you like some tea? I would, Granny always said that sweet tea is best when you've had a shock."

"Sybil…"

"I should telephone his father, and Tim, I don't think they'll know yet. And, of course, arrangements will need to be made for when they bring him home."

"Sybil…"

"Hmm?"

Robert isn't sure what else to say - this isn't really the reaction he would have expected from her. He's always thought her to be very much like her mother, but now he sees a lot of himself in her, recalling the day his father had died and how he'd been very rational and methodical about things. Sybil's mind has to be kept active, especially in times of turmoil, but her grief will come in time, it's inevitable…

And, when it does, he promises to be there for his little girl.

**_-xxx-_**

The warm water soothes her aching muscles and she stretches her legs out as far as the bathtub will allow her, toes pointed like the dancers she adores to watch at the Royal Ballet. If she weren't a lady, then maybe she would liked to have been a dancer too…

But it's all very well and good contemplating what life would be like if things were different.

If things were different, she might not be a widow at the age of twenty.

If things were different, she might not have married him at all. Maybe she would have eloped with Tom or trained as a nurse or… something.

She toys with her wedding ring, fingers pruning on account of been submerged in the water for too long, the one she'd taken off during her brief affair. It was easier to pretend that way, to ignore her conscience and forget who she was just for one night.

The same night her husband lay dying.

She wonders if it had been quick, whether or not he had suffered and if he'd known that death was coming for him. It was always a possibility that this could have happened, but Sybil had always somehow refused to believe it - she'd imagined him coming home at last, bearing the odd scar here and there but otherwise fine for the most part, and they'd discover what it meant to really be married, building a life for themselves before assuming the mantle of Earl and Countess of Merton many years later.

But none of that is meant to be.

There is, of course, still the possibility of a child, but it's a thought that now terrifies rather than thrills her - she and Tom had been so careful but, even with what limited knowledge she has, she's aware that it's not always a failsafe method. If she is pregnant, there's more of a chance of it being Larry's, given that last weekend he'd had on leave what seems like a lifetime ago now but, again, it doesn't necessarily work that way. With that thought in mind, her hand ghosts down to her lower abdomen and she makes a note to pay close attention to her monthlies from now on.

She isn't ready to be a mother, especially not a mother who has to bring up a child without a father.

"Can I get you anything, milady?" Anna asks, popping her head around the bathroom door.

"I'm quite alright, thank you Anna… though I think I will join them for dinner tonight so I'll need something to wear," she replies. "And I suppose it shall have to be something black."

**_-xxx-_**

There's a sombre mood hanging over the servants' hall when Tom arrives for supper that evening - chauffeur's don't traditionally eat with the rest of the household staff, but things have changed since the outbreak of war and it just seems to make more sense and, to be quite honest, he enjoys the company.

"It's sad," he hears Daisy say, midway through a conversation with some of the others. "I like Lady Sybil, she's nice…"

"What's happened?" he asks quietly as Mrs Hughes passes by.

The housekeeper sighs almost sadly. "Of course, you won't have heard, but we're a house in mourning… Captain Grey has been killed."

He's never wanted to see her more than in this moment - if he were a heartless or selfish man, then he'd think it all so wonderfully and perfectly convenient that she was free of her loveless marriage, but Tom is neither of those things and he feels his heart break for her…

He just has to hope and pray she has the strength to endure it.


	17. Coping Mechanisms

**_The prompt for day 17 is "illness" _**

* * *

><p>Grief arrives with a letter a week or so after she learnt the news.<p>

She hadn't wanted to share this with anybody else and so she takes herself off outside and towards the old stone temple, a scene of many a Crawley heartbreak for generations.

She reads it over and over, fingers resting over his own muddy ones imprinted on the page. It only hits her then that this is probably the closest she'll ever get to him again, that he really is gone and isn't coming back.

He really did love her.

Or at least that's what it says in the letter.

And as for her, well, she'd been in another man's bed whilst he was writing this.

She wants to scream, to shout or to cry but yet she still sits their - stoic and emotionless as she stares blankly towards the horizon.

What a mess things have become.

So wrapped up is she in her own inner turmoil that she doesn't even notice the fact that it's started to rain, and not even the familiar figure of her sister walking towards her with an umbrella in hand is enough to distract her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, sitting down beside her and holding the umbrella over them both to shield them from the rain

"Not really."

Mary nods, not really in understanding but in acceptance - she can't even begin to imagine what Sybil must be going through or how she must be feeling, and it's because of that that she doesn't push her. She realises now that she has been one of the lucky ones, having managed to persuade Matthew not to go at least until the call came for him (it had been incredibly difficult and she'd ended up having to recruit Isobel to her cause and, of course, it had been impossible to resist the combined force of both his wife and mother).

"Well you should at least come inside," Mary replies. "You'll catch your death out here."

Sybil merely glares back at her for her inappropriate choice of words.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean… it's just that I worry about you."

Sybil sighs. "Alright, but I still don't want to talk about it."

"That's fine," Mary reassures her. "But if and when you do, you know that I'm here."

"Thank you," she replies with a smile before the two sisters walk arm in arm back towards the house.

**_-xxx-_**

Unsurprisingly, she doesn't join them for dinner and when Mary goes to check on her just before bed, she finds the tray sent up for her untouched as her sister lies motionless on the bed staring up at the ceiling.

"I haven't cried yet," she says. "Do you think that makes me a bad person?"

Mary shakes her head. "No," she replies. "We all deal with grief differently. Look at me when Patrick died; Edith was positively beside herself and yet I, the one who was supposed to be engaged with him, didn't so much as bat an eyelid."

"Mary… Do you think it's possible to love two people at the same time?"

"So many questions, darling. What makes you ask? "

Sybil shrugs. "I don't know, really," she lies. "I'm just curious… so, do you?"

Her sister contemplates this for a moment. "I think that it's possible to love lots of people in lots of different ways. But can you be completely and irrevocably **in** love with more than one person? I'm not quite sure, but then I've only ever experienced that sort of love once before."

Sybil sighs and rolls over so that she's facing away from her.

"That's what I was afraid of.

**_-xxx-_**

She's not sure if it's grief or guilt or a toxic combination of the two, but whatever it is it consumes every fibre of her being like some sort of illness. She rarely leaves the sanctuary of her bedroom and, when she does, she floats about the house ghost-like in an almost transient state. She's hardly eating a thing and it's beginning to show - there are dark circles under her eyes, she's lost weight and she looks considerably older than her mere twenty-years. In short, she is a shell of a her former self and yet it seems that there's nothing anyone can do to help her - they've even had to call for the doctor, for she'd wake screaming having had the most awful nightmares.

Her sleep might now be dreamless, but every waking hour feels like a living hell.

She hates this waiting and the fact that she has nothing to do until they tell her he's coming home at last. She hates the pity and the sympathy and there's only so much black one woman can wear. Eventually, the telegram comes and he is finally to be repatriated - she makes the decision then to return to Harringham where she can at least try to make herself useful.

She says goodbye to her family at the door of the Abbey - they'll joint her next week for the funeral- before allowing Tom to help her into the back of the car. She hasn't really seen much of him since the day she'd learnt the news about Larry and it's clear from the way he looks at her that he's concerned. He runs his thumb across her gloved knuckles - it's a gesture that would usually elicit a smile from her but, this time, she merely pulls her hand away quickly and sits down.

The drive to the station seems prolonged by the awkward silence - there's so much they really need to say to each other but there just doesn't seem to be an appropriate time in which to bring it up. He helps her with her bags onto the platform, passing them to a porter who sees that they're put onto the train.

"You've been avoiding me," he says quietly once the porter is out of earshot.

"My husband is dead," she replies. "So, believe it or not, I'm hardly in the mood for conversation."

Tom sighs. "What I meant is that you could have come to me. I would have listened…"

"I don't want to talk about it!" she snaps, so sick, tired and weary of people saying the same thing to her over and over again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude… I've just got a lot going on right now."

"I know, but have you perhaps though that, whilst you might not **want** to talk about it, you **need** to talk about it? You need to, for your own sanity because otherwise it will drive you mad, it will consume you…"

"I'm fine."

"That's exactly what my Mam said after Da died, but she wasn't… and the things I did to keep my family afloat, they were unthinkable. You are so, so lucky to have the support you have, even though it might not feel like it right now. Just… talk to me, please. Not right now, but soon… I thought we were friends."

Her gaze softens then and she reaches for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "I'm sorry, for all of it really but…" the guard blows his whistle, signalling that the train is ready to leave. "I have to go."

"Sybil…"

"Goodbye, Tom."

He watches as the train pulls away and, as she disappears in a cloud of smoke, he can't help but feel as though she's begun to pull away from him forever.


	18. My Dear, I Wanted to Tell You

**_The prompt for day 18 is "I Love You" - a little different to previous chapters and most things I've written before. I was inspired by real letters I've read written by soldiers during the war - there's just something so brutally honest about them all. I think that being faced with your own mortality may have made you want to say all the things you never had the chance to before which is really Larry's motivation here. Think of it as a filler chapter before we move towards the next act. Enjoy and please let me know what you think (even though I know the alerts have been playing up a bit recently)_**

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><p><strong>3rd July 1916<strong>

My dearest Sybil,

My darling Sybil,

Sybil,

How strange it is to think that, just a few short weeks ago, you and I shared what I now know to be the happiest weekend of our marriage.

I don't wish to burden you with stories of the horrors I've seen here, but what I will tell you is that it is the closest thing to hell that the living can endure. I say living, but it's a sort of half life stranded between this world and whatever lies beyond it.

I'm sorry, this is more morbid than I anticipated.

And it's because of that that I cling to the memory of that weekend.

It saddens me that only now I realise that I've taken what we have for granted, that you and I have never really known what it is to truly be married. I promise you that this will change should I ever come out of this alive…

Because, the thing is my dear, I want to tell you that I love you.

I suppose that has shocked you and that you may think this is nothing more than the last minute confession of a man condemned to death. Whilst that might be partly true, it is only in the sense that this place lends a new perspective on life.

I love everything about you.

I love the way you wake by degrees in the morning - stretching out toes first, all the way up to your arms and fingers, and always with a smile. Especially in the summer.

I love the way you bite your lip whilst deep in thought and the way you hide your laughter behind your wineglass at dinner.

I love your compassion, your wit and charm.

I love your mind, your body and your soul in equal measurers.

In short, I love everything about you.

I fear that I might never get to tell you this properly, to ever kiss you again or even delight in the simple pleasure of being the envy of every man in the room just to have you by my side. My fate now lies in the hands of God and, should he call me home, then my only regret is that I will have to leave you, that I will never see your face again or hold our first child in my arms. You have made me a better man by loving you and it is with your name on my lips that I shall leave this world.

I will not post this letter, but will instead leave it here - if you are reading this, then it means I am gone, never to return. I am sorry, my darling, but I did try.

I tried for you.

I tried for us.

I long for the day that you and I shall meet again, though I hope that will be many, many years from now. I don't want you to dwell on the past or cling to the dreams of what might have been. I hope that, deep down, you loved me as I love you, but you must promise me that you will not cling to your grief. You are young - you have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do. Your part in our story will go on.

Do not be afraid to find another love, wherever in the world he may be…

But just know that I will always love you still.

The sun is rising. I'll have to go soon, even though I don't want to because it means that I have to stop writing.

Goodbye, you best of women and best of wives, my beloved sweetheart.

All my love,

L x


	19. Ashes to Ashes

**_The prompt for day 19 is "funeral" _**

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><p>"<em>In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother Lawrence to the ground…<em>"

She hates funerals and has a tendency to avoid them at all costs.

When Grandpapa died, she'd been just about old enough to go, but she'd hidden herself in the old nursery and point blank refused, instead burying her head in the books that he always used to read to her.

When Uncle Marmaduke died, she was conveniently ill.

When it came to Patrick, that wasn't really a funeral of sorts and so that hadn't been so bad.

When it came to her husband, well, she couldn't exactly make excuses this time.

"…_We commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust_…"

The service itself had been bareable, she's never been a strong believer in God and so it had been easy enough just to stare blankly ahead and pretend that she was somewhere else. She hadn't even realised it was over until her mother had reached for her hand and given it a gentle squeeze and the coffin had passed her by, resting on the shoulders of his father and brother, his friend Joseph (the same Joseph who had arrived at Downton with the telegram that changed everything), and three others whose faces seem familiar but to which she can't put a name.

The mourners had filed out into the small cemetery in the grounds of Harringham's village church and to the same plot of land the Grey family have been buried in for generations. His isn't the first coffin to be brought here because of that God awful war that continues to rage across the sea, for there are several other small wooden crosses bearing the name, rank and regiment of his fallen comrades.

"_The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen_."

"Amen," she whispers, her voice lost among the chorus.

And it is over at last.

"Be honest with me," Lord Merton says when it's just the two of them left alone at the graveside. "Did you love my son?"

Sybil looks at him and, perhaps for the first time ever, she doesn't have to give her answer much thought. "Yes."

"I had hoped as much," he replies. "Because at least that way I know that he died happy."

The beast inside her stirs, gnawing away at her conscience again and it's impossible to ignore. "I just wish I'd told him," she adds. "But I'd like to think that he knew."

Lord Merton smiles at her sadly. "My dear, I'm certain that he did," he replies before offering her his arm. "Would you like me to walk you back to the house?"

"Yes… yes I'd like that very much."

**_-xxx-_**

As is such the way with these sorts of things, there is a luncheon held at Harringham Hall for those who had come to pay their respects. All around her, Sybil hears the same idle chit-chat, the gossip and the pity and she just can't stand it anymore.

"Such a shame, to be widowed so young."

"And without a child too… what security will she have now?"

"There's always her father's money, I hear. With a fortune like hers and that pretty face, I shouldn't think she'll have much difficulty in finding another husband."

But she doesn't want another husband - she wants her old one back.

Because she needs to tell him about Tom, about what she did and that she's sorry.

She needs to tell him that, despite it all, she really did love him and she hadn't meant to hurt him.

She needs his forgiveness to quell the beast within.

But, alas, she can't have that and so she cannot find peace. She fears now that her old self is lost forever, consumed by her guilt and made to suffer for her sins, but Sybil Grey is every bit as determined as the young and vibrant Sybil Crawley had been and, as such, she will find her freedom…

But atonement comes at a price and whether or not she is willing to pay it is another matter entirely.

Only time will tell if she has the strength to succeed.


	20. The Beginning of the End

**_The prompt for day 20 is "automatic" - this isn't my best chapter, but I've had such a long and exhausting day so hopefully you'll forgive me. I didn't want to let you down by not posting anything because I'm determined to see this through to the end. I've used 'automatic' in the sense that it implies something is beyond human control which is the way I see Tom and Sybil's feelings for each other in this story. Timelines might start to get confusing from this point as we'll jump around a bit but hopefully it will all make sense in the end. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p><strong>September 1916<strong>

As hard as she'd tried - it was impossible to stay away from him.

It had been so easy to follow the familiar path down to the garage, to sit with him like she used to and talk about life, the universe and everything in it.

Yet, despite it all, so much remains unsaid.

Her husband, his future, their ill advised night of passion - it's all a giant elephant in the room that they endeavour to ignore.

But, in the end, the tension becomes to much to bare…

**_-xxx-_**

He holds her gaze, the intensity almost too much to bare yet it's impossible to look away. She takes a step backwards, her spine coming into contact with the bookshelf behind her and suddenly she is trapped and there's nowhere to run.

Not that she would even if she could.

The atmosphere is charged and deep inside she feels a strange mixture of excitement, nervousness and arousal all at once.

She opens her mouth to say something but the words just won't come. He steps closer to her, bringing a hand up to her cheek and caressing it with his thumb.

"Don't speak," he says quietly, leaning in to her. "Not now… you don't need to."

Her heart is pounding in her chest as he kisses her and she stretches her arms up around his neck and pulls him impossibly close. She sighs as his hand finds her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown. His lips begin to wander, his kisses leaving a burning trail of desire across her jaw, neck and down to her collarbone. It tickles and she can't help but giggle as she pushes him back with the palm of her hand on his shoulder.

"I've told you about that before," she chastises playfully.

Tom grins. "I know… but I just want to hear you laugh again. I miss you… come back to me."

Sybil sighs and rests her forehead against his. "Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?" she asks. "It's because of this that my husband is dead."

Tom shakes his head. "Don't ever say that," he replies. "None of that was your fault."

"But I was with you the night that he died," she tells him. "He was killed to punish me."

"Did you pull the trigger? Did you shoot the gun that killed him?"

"No."

"No," he repeats. "You didn't."

"But…"

"You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened. You trusted me enough to show me that letter her wrote to you… he loved you and I know that you loved him too and, as much as I want to, I'm not asking you to run away with me. I know that you need to grieve and that you need to mourn his loss, but you can't let this unnecessary guilt consume you."

Sybil looks up at him and furrows her brow. "So you have no shame in what we did."

Tom shakes his head. "No, I don't… I have no shame in loving you. Yes, the timing was wrong and perhaps we crossed a line given that you were married to another man… but I love you, so very much, and I just want to see you happy again."

"Then you have to let me go."

"I don't understand."

Sybil sighs. "I've made my choice… I'm going to America. I can't stay here, Tom, not anymore. Not when I'll forever be torn between my love for you and staying true to the memory of Larry, because you're right… I did love him, I **do** love him, it's just that I love you too and it's not fare to anyone if I can't give my heart so wholly and completely to either one of you. It has to be mine and mine alone, at least for now… just until it's mended again."

Tom nods. "If that's what will make you happy, what will make you my Sybil again then so be it."

"Your Sybil," she sighs wistfully. "I like the though of that, just not now… for now, I need to be my own Sybil. Kiss me… one last time to take with me."

At first, she just lets him kiss her but it isn't long before she's responding with equal fervour and her tongue explores his mouth longingly. Once again, things have escalated quickly - she'd retreated to the library, once again unable to sleep, and he too had ventured up there in the dead of night, having lain awake for hours despite yet another exhausting day. They'd sat up and talked, knowing that they were unlikely to be disturbed given that the rest of the household and staff are tucked up in bed...

And then the floodgates had opened, clearing the air between them at long last as she'd shown him Larry's letter - the one kept tucked in the back of her book.

He'd held her close as she'd cried and it was then that she knew she was lost in him once more.

That was how they came to be here, surrounded by some of the greatest romances of all time as they make love against the bookshelf.

The guilt isn't quite as palpable this time because, in the end, it all boils down to the simple need to feel alive once more.


	21. Baby Mine

**_The prompt for day 21 is "sugar and spice" - I think alerts have been playing up recently so I'm not sure how many of you are still reading and still have faith that I'll be able to finish this project, or maybe nobody is and you've all abandoned me. It's going to be hard this weekend because I'm moving house, but I'll try to get Saturday's update written tomorrow too ready to post. Enjoy and please let me know what you think - I'm starting to feel neglected :) x_**

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><p><strong>May 1917<strong>

She stares out of the widow and across the New York skyline, her most precious treasure held close to her chest as she rocks her back and forth to the soothing sound of the rain hitting the windows.

Motherhood suits her.

It still astounds her that such a perfect little miracle could be born from so much grief and guilt, and this perfect little girl was exactly the new start she'd needed.

Eleanor Martha Grace had come into the world in the last days of March, weighing a healthy seven pounds and six ounces and the first in a new line of Crawley women. She was the apple of her mother's eye, already beloved by her aunts and grandmother who were so desperate to meet her and a grandfather so besotted by even the sound of her name.

There is, of course, the small matter of her father.

It had been the first thought that had crossed Sybil's mind when she'd learnt the news that she was expecting - she was a married woman, a widow but married nonetheless, and so it was hardly a scandal in the eyes of her new social circle. They'd pitied and felt sorry for her, but they had by no means ostracised her…

How different things might be if they knew the truth.

During the early months of her pregnancy, she had tried to write to him. She had tried to tell him that there was a possibility the child was his because, even if he couldn't do anything about it, he still had a right to know.

But the words just wouldn't come and, in the end, she'd lost count of how many pieces of paper she'd tossed into the fire.

Late into her second trimester, things had taken a turn for the worst and she had focused all of her energy in just trying to keep them both alive. She hadn't missed the look of panic on the doctor's face when she told him that she hadn't felt the baby move in a few days but, luckily, Grandmama had been an absolute godsend and Martha had taken control of the situation, staying with her every step of the way.

And from the moment she'd first held her daughter in her arms, there was no doubt in Sybil's heart as to whom she belonged…

She was entirely hers and hers alone.

They have the same full lips, wide eyes the colour of rain and an apparent curiosity for the world around them. Even now at just two months old, Nora is so acutely aware of her surroundings - she seems to recognise familiar faces yet doesn't shy away from encountering new ones. Much to Sybil's delight, the next people she will meet for the very first time are her grandmama and aunt Edith. She'd extended the invitation to Mary, but her eldest sister had declined on account of the fact that Matthew has been called up at long last and he was due some leave around the time the rest of the family planned to travel though promised she would come over for Thanksgiving.

"They'll love you so much," Sybil says, caressing her daughter's downy hair as they lie curled up together on the bed, a photo album stretched out in front of them. "And we'll go to see them all one day, I promise you that."

Nora simply gurgles and sucks on her tiny fingers. It's her way of telling her Mama she understands.

From the day that Nora was born, Sybil's decision had been made - her arrival had signalled the beginning of a bright and better future and the life they would build together here in America. Her family would be welcome to visit whenever they wanted and she would of course go back home to see them whenever she could, but she was in no hurry to return to that old life.

Not now that things were finally on her terms.

She's even changed her name - here she is Lady Sybil Crawley-Grey, a double barrel name being oh so a la mode in her new social circle. Some of the girls are even starting to wear trousers and bob their hair, which looks so wonderful and liberating that she might just try it.

And even though he is part of her past, she's certain that her vision of the future would get Tom's nod of approval.

**_-xxx-_**

Speaking of Tom, the man himself once again has to learn news of Sybil through servants' hall gossip.

_Lady Sybil._

_Baby girl. _

_ Born on the twenty-seventh of March. _

Mathematics was never a strong point in his limited education, but even Tom is able to figure out the fact that there's a possibility this long awaited first grandchild is his own flesh and blood. He feels physically sick with guilt at the thought of what she has had to endure alone, that he could potentially have ruined her if their secret ever got out and that he'd allowed himself to be so reckless.

In that moment, he knows that he has no choice but to leave Downton, for everywhere he goes he is haunted by the ghost of her.

When this damn war is finally over, he will make something of himself. He promised her once that he wouldn't always be a chauffeur and, now more than ever, he is determined to prove it.

For the sake of his potential daughter more than anything.


	22. She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

**_The prompt for day 22 is "roses" - I'm hoping I can get the next chapter done in the morning but you may have to have a double on Sunday because I've got a busy weekend ahead. That being said, I'll try my very vest and please enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p>He remembers the first time he ventured into the rose garden - it was that day in 1913, before the war came, before she was presented to society and their lives changed forever - she'd got her new frock at last and her excitement was so palpable and infectious that she'd dropped several not so subtle hints that she'd wanted him to see it.<p>

The cuts and scratches had been worth it to see the smile on her face.

How young and naive they'd both been back then, both determined to change the world one step at a time. Now everything is different and a whole ocean separates them from one another and he can't help but wonder if he'll ever see her again. He holds one of the roses in his hand, pulling off the petals one by one and letting them fall to the ground - the gesture reminds him of his sister and how she used to do the same with the boy who lived across the road, chanting "_he loves me, he loves me not_," over and over again until the last petal fell.

And suddenly he yearns for Ireland.

Tom writes to his family as often as he can but it's been years since he last saw any of them. Perhaps home would be the next logical step - he'd refused to join the army but a more important war rages on the streets where he grew up and a free Ireland is most certainly a cause that he'd fight for. He has no interest in taking up arms unless the need absolutely called for it and his father had always taught him that the pen was mightier than the sword. He's well suited to the task of driving forward the propaganda machine being eloquent, educated and passionate about his beliefs and his policies.

Sybil had once called his political aspirations "a fine ambition".

He'd thought it as nothing but a dream, though you have to start somewhere if you're to turn that dream into a reality.

It's a drastic decision and there are alternatives of course - the thought of staying here in Downton isn't particularly appealing, and the idea of jumping on a boat to America and chasing after Sybil seems completely absurd. Terribly romantic, of course, but absurd nonetheless especially when he has no job, little savings and few prospects.

No, he needs to make something of himself first.

His initial intentions had been to sit outside and write to his mother but all of that can wait now. Instead, he begins to pen his letter of resignation and will hand in his notice this very afternoon. He knows that Lord Grantham will want to see him, as he so often does when anyone decides to leave. He's a fair employer, he can't deny that, and Tom almost feels guilty for having to lie about the reasons he feels he has to go…

Because the truth would only cause more trouble than it's worth.

Struggling to find the words to make himself sound convincing, he continues to pull at the petals…

_She loves me. _

_ She loves me not. _

_ She loves me._

He wonders if it would be possible to find her address somewhere - he misses her letters and has done for quite some time - but, even if he were able to get hold of it, would she want him to write to her?

Would she write back?

_She loves me not. _

This isn't healthy and nor are his near constant thoughts about her doing him any good - for now, he has to banish her from his mind until the day comes where he will be a man worthy of her hand. Then he will be free to find her, love her and marry her, to resume their story and tell it as it always should have been.

He just hopes and prays that she'll have him.

_She loves me._

She loves him, she'd said as much to him on more than one occasion.

And that will be enough to keep him going even when all other hope seems lost.


	23. Just the Two of Us

**_The prompt for day 23 is "Jane Eyre" -I'm a day behind, I know and I'm SO sorry about that. When I started this project, I had no idea I'd find a house and then have to move across my city a week later. This weekend has been chaotic but I'm sort of settled now and I've managed to throw something together. I'll try to get back on track and write another chapter tonight but I'm really tired so I'm not promising. Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think :) x _**

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><p><strong>July 1917<strong>

She can't believe that it's been a year.

It's been a year since Larry was killed and oh how things have changed since then.

If anyone would have asked her back then where she saw herself now, the answer could not have been more different. She is happier and more content than she thought that she ever could have been a year ago and Nora has an awful lot to do with that, but she had never expected to feel quite so lonely.

Her grandmother lives upstate, but life in the country is far too quiet for Sybil and reminds her too much of Downton. The city is always alive, no matter what time of day and there's usually somebody round for tea or with whom she can spend time with in other ways, but now that they've all gone off to do the season (or at least the local equivalent), Sybil has been left very much alone - Nora grows stronger and more beautiful every single day and she longs to have someone to share that with. For her birthday, her sisters had bought her a brownie camera and she makes good use of it by sending dozens of photographs home to them…

But it just isn't the same.

It's on one particularly drizzly Sunday afternoon that this stab of homesickness makes her decide to do something really rather rash.

She writes to Tom.

It all started with a book - she'd just finished reading Jane Eyre for what feels like the thousandth time and, at last, decides to start on 'Dubliners'. Tom had given it to her just before she'd left for America, saying that he had intended to give her her own copy for Christmas. Seeing as how she wouldn't be there, he'd presented her with his own, complete with the scribbled notes in the margins and the the simple inscription on the front page.

_To my beloved big brother, _

_ I miss you every single day. I hope you come back soon but, for now, here's a little something to remind you of home. _

_ All my love, _

_ Orlaith. _

Sybil has always known that Tom has a rather large family back in Ireland, but she's never really understood just how close he is to them. Seeing this note makes her remember just how important family is to him, how much he loves them and how much he longs for one of his own.

She doesn't tell him about Nora, not in at first, but as she sits there, staring out of the window in her bedroom, she wonders whether or not she should. The little girl sleeps in her basket, blissfully unaware of her mother's inner turmoil. In the end, Sybil knows that she has to tell him, for Nora's sake more than her own.

_I must admit that I still think of that night you and I shared a year ago and how it changed everything. I can't bring myself to regret it, not anymore, at least not when there's a possibility that it gave me the thing most precious to me than anything else in this world._

_ My daughter._

_ Have I shocked you? I thought I might have done, but I've only just realised that you probably already know as news travels fast in Downton. That being said, when I'm not sure of is whether or not you've realised that there is a possibility that she's your daughter too…_

She reads her words back and sighs. Of course he's probably realised…

But then why hasn't he tried to contact her?

"_Because he doesn't know where to find you_," says the rational side of her brain, the one she paid little attention to a year ago and ended up in this mess.

"_But Gwen does… and he still writes to Gwen. Surely he could have asked her?_"

"_Or maybe he just doesn't want to know. Think of it, who would ever employ a man who fathered the bastard child of his previous employer's daughter?_"

"_Stop that!_" she chastises herself, her thoughts growing darker by the second. "_Tom's not like that… he would never be so selfish._"

"_No, but you were._"

She can't listen to this anymore and, once again, throws the paper into the fire and watches it burn.

This is becoming something of a habit.

Nora stirs in her sleep and Sybil's maternal instinct kicks in as she begins to whimper.

"It's alright, my love," she says quietly into her baby's ear as she rocks her soothingly. "I'm here… I'm always here."

Nora quiets almost instantly and instinctively nuzzles her head closer to her mother's chest.

"I'll always be here for you. It's just you and me now… together, always."


	24. A Strange Coincidence

**_The prompt for day 24 is "Courtyards are for Secrets" -This is the second chapter I've posted today and, what with everything that's gone on, that's impressive. So, yeah, 23 is also up to read and I'm all caught up now. Same again tomorrow. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p>The news of Mr Branson's departure had come as something of a surprise to most of the staff.<p>

But not to Thomas Barrow.

Well, Thomas isn't really staff anymore, but he'd gone and got himself a Blighty and ended up back here, having expressed a desire to serve in the hospitals on the home front as opposed to that hell hole in northern France. He's paid a price though, and his hand will never be the same again…

But at least he's not dead.

Around the time he'd returned home, he'd observed something rather… interesting. Something that had the power to turn the entire household on its head.

Lady Sybil and Branson. Kissing. Passionately.

_Even this early in the morning, it was absolutely sweltering - he'd gone for a long walk through the village and up to the Abbey, knowing that he'd probably catch O'Brien as she had her customary cigarette before breakfast. He was early though, very early, and there doesn't seem to be a single soul awake yet. _

_ But then he hears them. _

_ "Slow down," comes the chauffeur's unmistakable Dublin brogue. "Where's the rush, hmm?"_

_ "They'll have noticed I'm gone by now." _

_ "Who will? Your sisters? Daisy… she wouldn't say anything even if she had and, if they ask, then you were in the library." _

_ "I _**_was_**_ in the library."_

_ "Well then, it's not a complete lie then is it?" he laughs. "Fine… you have to go, but at least kiss me goodnight first."_

_ Thomas pokes his head around the stack of crates he's stood behind, out of view of the couple though in the perfect place to observe the scandal unfolding before him. _

_ "Thank you," she says, her arms around his neck, foreheads touching as she plays with his hair. "For tonight… for everything. For always being there for me. For being my friend… but you know that this cannot happen again. It _**_must_**_ not happen again/"_

_ Tom sighs. "I wish we could just run away together." _

_ "I know, but we can't." _

_ "I really do love you… I always have an I always will."_

_ "I love you too. But this is where it ends… we'll only end up getting hurt otherwise."_

_ He doesn't say anything to that, but rather leans in and seals their fate with a kiss. _

_ Thomas watches on, unsure whether or not he's entirely surprised. They've always been strangely close and he's heard of upper class women having affairs with their servants many a time. _

_ That being said, he would never have thought that Lady Sybil of all people was capable of being unfaithful to her husband. _

_He likes her perhaps more than he likes any of the others and she's one of the few people in his life who has ever been kind to him. _

_ And if that great brute has hurt her or forced her in any way then there will be hell to pay. _

_ She keeps hold of his hand for as long as she possibly can before heading back into the house and it's only his fondness for her that stops him from decking Branson right there and then._

_ And it's also his fondness for her that makes him want to keep this information from himself…_

_ At least for now._

**_-xxx-_**

Just like old times, Thomas finds himself stood out in the courtyard with O'Brien as the pair share a cigarette just after lunch.

"Curious, isn't it," he says. "That he should leave as soon as we find out Lady Sybil's had a baby."

O'Brien scoffs. "Serves 'im right," she replies. "I've said it once and I'll say it again. We're not friends with 'em and I've seen the way he looks at her like some lovesick fool."

"But nine months after…"

"Nine months after **what**?"

"Nothing, doesn't matter."

"It obviously does."

Thomas sighs as he stubs out his cigarette under his boot. "Last July, I saw them together… they'd come from the direction of the cottage and I don't think she'd just popped round for a cup of tea."

O'Brien raises her eyebrows. "You can't be saying what I think you're saying… that the baby's 'is?"

"I don't know how you could suggest such a thing… but now that you mention it."

And, with that, the secret's out.

Only time will tell how long it will be before the rumour starts to spread like wildfire…

And, when it does, someone is going to get burnt.


	25. Homecoming

**_The prompt for day 25 is "Sea" - Only six more days to go! I can't believe I've made it this far and what a whirlwind it's been. Still much more to come though but we are heading towards the climax of the story. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p>This time yesterday, he'd been sanding on the banks of the River Mersey, staring out across the horizon and to the Irish Sea beyond. Now, on the deck of the ferry that has borne him home, he watches as his destination looms closer. He's got butterflies in his stomach and he wonders how much things have canted since the last time he was here. Of course, he's kept up to date with the goings on in and around Dublin in particular through the newspapers and letters from his family, but it's something that he'll have to see with his own eyes if he's to understand. e<p>

He was little more than a boy when he'd left, or at least that's how it felt. After Da died, he'd had to grow up rather quickly for the sake of his family and their survival. His mother had retreated into herself, his brothers struggled to find work and, by the, the eldest already had a family of his own to support. Tom knows that he is one of the lucky ones and that some of the lads he grew up with weren't quite so fortunate - he had a good job, for a chauffeur is a respectable position in any household, and his talent for mechanics is something that he could easily turn into a trade.

But he wants more than that.

There were many times that he'd lay awake at night wondering if he was doing the right thing in going home or whether it was admitting defeat. In the time between leaving Downton and boarding the ferry back to Dublin, he'd contemplated whether or not to stay in Liverpool with Keiran and buy into the garage he owned in Wavertree. Together, the could make a comfortable living for themselves, but that really did seem like settling for the consolation prize. With a heavy heart, he had declined Keiran's offer and headed into town the following morning, strolling at a leisurely pace down to the Pier Head where he'd purchased his ticket home.

Home.

It's been so long that it almost feels alien to him now. The little ones probably won't even recognise him and his sister will be quite grown up by now. If she were one of the Ladies he'd spent years driving round, she would undoubtedly be counting down the days until her first season in a year or two. But, alas, she is not to be afforded that luxury and the local boys will come to court her and she'll be destined to share the same fate as the generations that came before her.

And it saddens him that she deserves so much more than that.

Their two worlds could not be any further apart but, in that moment, he thinks of how similar his sister's situation is to how Sybil's was. Sybil had once said to him that he has the freedom to marry for love and, whilst that may be true, it isn't really so for Orlaith. She'll need to find herself a good man from a good family, who has a trade or a steady job at the very least and who can support her whilst she stays at home to look after the children. It's such a shame because, like Sybil, his sister is bright and kind hearted and sees the beauty in the world despite its flaws.

Oh how he'd love for the two of them to meet one day, for he loves them both dearly and knows that they'd get along famously.

That being said, there is one woman he loves more than Sybil and Orlaith combined.

Mam.

Aileen Branson is not only the matriarch of their family, but also of the whole street it seems. She is the sort of person who knows a little about a lot - from the best way to treat a fever to tips on how to mend a broken heart, Aileen's kitchen is never empty for there is always someone somewhere who comes to her for advice and a good cup of tea.

Her youngest boy is no exception to this.

To a complete stranger, her greeting may have come across as rather cold considering that she hasn't seen him in years, but that's just the way that she is. She tells him off for just dumping his bag at the foot of the stairs like he used to when he was a boy, ordering him to take it to the room he once shared with Keiran and their brother Eamon when they were children whilst she puts the kettle on.

"So, why the change of mind?" she asks as he pours the tea. "I thought the plan was to end up in London."

Tom nods. "It was," he replies. "But things change… people change."

Aileen studies her son for a moment - he's grown into a very handsome man, there's no denying that, and she's surprised that he's not managed to find himself a nice girl to marry by now.

Or maybe that's just it.

"Go on, what's her name?"

"Who?"

"You're sweetheart."

"I haven't got a sweetheart."

His mother sighs. "Tommy, _a leanbh_, I know that look… that's the look of a broken hearted man if ever I saw one."

Tom swallows hard as he meets his mother's eyes and he knows that it's impossible to lie to her. "Sybil," he says. "Her name is Sybil."

And then he tells her everything. Well, everything save for the fact that he may have fathered a child out of wedlock - that's a bit much even for a liberal thinking woman such as her.

Like any good mother, Aileen sits and listens to her son's rather sad story. When he's done, she reaches over and takes both of his hands in her own like she had done the night he'd come to her and told her that he was thinking about leaving for England and asked for her advice. "She sounds like a very special lady, a literal one at that, but you said yourself that it isn't healthy for you to keep thinking about her. You need to focus on yourself for a while, and I know that's hard because you're so much like your father, so much more than you'll ever know, and you put the happiness of others before your own. If she really loves you, and I'm sure she does, then she'll wait. When the time is right, find her… but now isn't that time."

Tom nods in understanding. "What makes you sure that she loves me too?"

"Because how could any woman not? I raised good sons, I'll have you know, good sons capable of being good husbands and fathers… and your turn will come one day. If it's meant to be with her then so be it."

Tom's stomach churns at the mention of 'father', but he knows it's best to let the blow fall by degrees and he has to be certain himself before he breaks the news. Instead, he squeezes her hands tightly and smiles. "Thank you," he says. "For always being honest with me."

"I'm your mother, it's my job. You're a fool, Tom Branson, a silly romantic fool, but you've a good heart and that's all that matters. Now, go on, off to bed with you… don't think you can start acting like lord of the fecking manor just yet."

Tom laughs and leans in to kiss his mother's cheek as he stands. "Night Mam," he says. "It's good to be home."

"It's good to have you Tommy, and it always will be."


	26. Guardian Angels

**_The prompt for day 26 is "Strength" _**

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><p><strong>April 1919 <strong>

Sybil has never been so afraid.

Nora is sick, very sick, and the doctor has warned her to prepare for the worst.

She has the Spanish Flu.

She's not even sure how or where she picked it up, but this is an illness that has spread like wildfire to all corners of the globe. Not really giving a fig about her own health, Sybil has sat by her little girl's bedside day after day and night after night, watching for even the smallest signs of improvement.

But she only seems to be getting worse.

Despite her granddaughter's protests, Martha has come down to the city to keep her company and see that she's actually looking after herself as well as Nora. "_Don't worry about me_," she says. "_I'm as tough as old boots_."

Sybil wishes that she had her grandmama's strength because her faith is beginning to waver. Nora has never looked so small or so fragile, not even when she'd been born, and it scares her just how real the possibility of losing her is.

The sound of her crying is like a knife to her heart and she wishes that there was something she could do to ease her daughter's suffering. This, she now knows, is what being a mother is all about because if there was any way you could bare your child's pain for them then you would in a heartbeat.

"Brrr," Nora had kept saying, curling herself up into a tight ball under her blankets. "Cold"

That was when Sybil had first known that something was wrong and the second she'd pressed the back of her hand to Nora's blistering forehead she was calling for the doctor.

She trusted Doctor Bradshaw as much as old Clarkson back home, a man who had brought her into this world and had seen to almost every ailment, cut and scrape ever since. He's a handsome and charming man, surprisingly still a bachelor at the age of twenty-eight, and several mutual acquaintances have tried to set them up in the past.

But Sybil just isn't interested.

And, besides, she's fairly sure he prefers the company of men.

Not that it matters, of course, because Sybil really isn't in the mood for romance these days. Her most important love story is that which she writes with her daughter, and without whom life would be half empty.

Sybil has never been one for religion, but she always remembers someone (Tom, probably… or maybe it was Mama) who had told her all about guardian angels. These angels weren't necessarily sent from God, though one could choose to believe they were if they so wished, and they were assigned to watch over and protect you from the day you were born to the day that you die. They can't be seen, but they're always do, and all you have to do is call on them in times of trouble for wisdom and guidance.

As Nora takes a turn for the worst, Sybil finds herself doing just that.

"_Please_," she prays to herself. "_Please let there get through this… I'll do anything, I'll _**_give_**_ anything just to make sure that she's alright. I've done a great deal of wrong, I know I have, but please don't punish her. Please don't make her suffer… please don't take her away from me._"

She ends up bringing Nora into her own bed, the two of them cuddled up together under the duvet, Sybil with her arms around her protectively as she reads aloud from the book of fairytales Papa used to read to her when she was a girl. Nora seems to settle at last, though her breathing is still laboured and her fever still rages but even then Sybil is scared to allow herself to sleep.

Only, several hours later, she wakes in a blind panic.

Nora is still and lifeless next to her, her skin is pale and cols and she fears that, despite her plea, her darling little girl has been taken from her.

And then she sees it.

Her chest rises and falls gently, more normal and sounding far healthier than it had done before.

And when her blue-grey eyes flutter open at last, Sybil can't help but cry with relief.

"Mama sad," Nora croaks.

"Oh no, my darling," she replies. "I'm very, very happy to see you."

Mercifully, her prayers have been answered and both of their guardian angels are on their side at long last.

**_-xxx-_**

On the other side of the Atlantic ocean, another family aren't quite so fortunate.

The priest has been called and the last rites performed.

All the Branson siblings can do is wait.

Just after ten in the evening, five heads snap up in unison at the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Father Dooley emerges from the hallway, looking solemn faced and serious as he stands before them.

"Your mother is with God now. You have my deepest sympathies."


	27. Pastures New

**_The prompt for day 27 is "Birthday" _**

* * *

><p><strong>November 1920 <strong>

If anyone would ever have asked Tom where he saw himself at thirty, his answer probably wouldn't have been sitting in the same shabby Dublin pub where he'd spent his youth, drowning his sorrows and wondering where it all went wrong.

Well, not **entirely** wrong.

There is still a small glimmer of hope in the form of Henry Carraway - a Harvard alum and former war reporter who had somehow found himself in the midst of the fight for Ireland's freedom. He'd first encountered Tom about a year or so ago now when he'd stood and listened to the rousing speeches made by Tom and his comrades on a street corner by St Stephen's Green - these young men had stood shoulder to shoulder and made their case for their country's independence without the need to resort to violence. He'd been mightily impressed, even when the police had arrived and sparked a riot of sorts, and watched as Tom had been dragged away having been punched and kicked to the ground.

Henry had followed the officers straight down to the local police station and bailed him out that same afternoon.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Henry had joined this little band of brothers and, from the cellar of a derelict looking pub, they had produced anti-unionist propaganda which was then distributed across the city in the dead of night. They had known what they were doing was incredibly dangerous, but it was only when Tom's cousin, Donal, had been shot dead for "probably being a rebel" that they'd realised just how perilous it all was.

The group had disbanded after that and hadn't really spoken much since - the last Tom heard, a couple of them were still in prison, others had left the city and those that remained…

Well, to be quite honest, he had absolutely no idea.

Deciding that he quite liked Dublin, Henry had stayed and worked as a freelancer for a lot of the local publications but now it feels as though things have run their course and it's time for pastures new.

"So you're leaving me now too?" Tom asks as Henry sets down the bottle of Bushmills and two glasses on the table they've managed to commandeer in the corner of the crowded pub. "And you decided to tell me on my birthday?"

"It's as good a time as any. You were having a shitty day anyway, I didn't think I could make it any worse."

"Hmph," comes Tom's reply as he pours them a generous measure of whisky each. "So, where will you go?"

Henry shrugs. "London first, I think. Then maybe St Petersburg, there's probably a story or two to be found over there… come with me."

"What?"

"You heard me… come with me, see the world."

Tom sighs. "I can't."

"Oh you can't tell me you're happy with the way things are. You promised that this mechanic thing wasn't going to be forever," says Henry. "Well, if you're not going to come with me, what about New York?"

"And what would I do out there?"

"Write," Henry replies. "Look, don't get mad, but I sent some of your work over to an old college friend of mine at the New York Times. He showed his editor and they liked it… they want to meet you."

Tom raises an eyebrow skeptically. "An editor at the New York Times wants to meet **me**? Why?"

"Because you're talented… and the sooner you realise that, the better. Besides, what have you got that's keeping you here?"

The answer is, of course, absolutely nothing. All his siblings seem to have settled down now, or at least they will have when Orlaith marries later this month, and he seems to have taken over from Keiran as the eternal bachelor. That isn't to say that he hasn't tried to court women, just none of them have ignited that spark inside him that makes him want to contemplate a lifetime with them. Since the brotherhood disbanded, he's been working as a mechanic again but has no desire to set up his own business.

So, here he is, thirty and stuck firmly in a rut.

New York is a gamble, but it's one that might just pay off.

"But… where will I live?"

**_-xxx- _**

In the end, he needn't have worried about finding somewhere to live as Henry still keeps an apartment in the city. To Tom, it's positively palatial, and his jaw had actually dropped when he'd stepped through the door. One of the neighbours, yet another of Henry's seemingly infinite number of friends, met him outside the building to give him the keys. He asks about the other inhabitants, and his new acquaintance tells him that he doesn't really know anybody else save for the one they all call 'the merry widow of Manhattan' - she is apparently a beautiful yet enigmatic young woman draped in diamonds an pearls, who throws lavish yet intimate parties and whose cigarette smoke traces a ladder to the stars as she sits out on the fire escape night after night, mapping the constellations whilst listening to the jazz musician who lives across the street.

Their paths haven't yet crossed, but Tom is already captivated.'

**_-xxx-_**

The apartment is so quiet without Nora - she's gone up to the Hamptons to see her grandmama before Sybil will join them both for Christmas in a few weeks. As much as she misses her daughter, it's been nice to have some time to herself - Nora will always come first, but she has managed to find the perfect balance between home and social life and is once again immersing herself in New York society. Nora might only be three, but she already loves to dance - a friend of theirs had bought them a gramophone for Sybil's birthday and it's a regular occurrence for people to arrive at their home, children and all, and for them to dance long into the night.

Her parties are probably made out to be more raucous than they actually are, but Sybil wouldn't have it any other way.

Barefoot, she strolls out onto the little balcony (which is really the fire escape she's managed to spruce up) late one evening for some air. One of the things she loves most about this bright new world is jazz and, as he does every night, the musician in the apartment block opposite is playing his trumpet with the window open. She closes her eyes and sways in time with the music, only to be disturbed by a loud clatter coming from the apartment below.

It's been empty for as long as she's been here - well, not vacant as such, just abandoned - and, although she knows she should probably stay here and telephone for the police, her curiosity gets the better of her and she begins to creep down the stairs.

**_-xxx- _**

Tom curses as the vase smashes - that's probably worth more than a whole year's salary - he's absolutely exhausted from his travels and he's struggling to function properly. He's craving nicotine - a horrid habit he'd given up when he went to England, but has somehow picked up again in recent years and so steps out into the fire escape. The air is cold - Henry had warned him about how cold New York winters can be and he wasn't wrong - it's a shock to the system and he feels instantly more alert, so much so that his head jerks at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

If he'd been stunned by his new abode, it was nothing in comparison to the beauty he sees before him now.

It's a woman - she's barefoot and wearing trousers, her dark hair is cropped and worn fashionably with soft waves that frame her face. She is pale skinned and even in the dim light he can see that she has eyes the colour of rain…

Eyes he's only ever seen on one person before.

He's imagined this moment for years, thought about what he'd say too many times to count and, when it comes down to it, he's absolutely lost for words.

Mercifully, she isn't quite so speechless.

"Well… I'm certainly glad to see you again."


	28. Just Like Old Times

**_The prompt for day 28 is "Old" - I know I haven't posted in a few days but I've been super busy. I have tried to write a little every day so I suppose it still counts. I wanted to get at least two chapters posted tonight but this one is longer than I expected and the longest of the story yet. We are approaching the end, so hopefully I'll get it done by the end of the week. So much for a thirty day challenge. Seeing as how we are coming to the end, I'd love it if you could let me know your thoughts and feelings. Enjoy :) x_**

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><p>She pours two glasses of bourbon, the good stuff that she's acquired a taste for in recent years, and tells him to make himself comfortable. Sybil's apartment is a charming mix of bohemia and the grandeur of her youth without coming across as ostentatious. Her personality shines through from the colour of the curtains, right down to the books stacked on the coffee table. She looks at one with this space and he can't remember the last time he ever saw her so at ease.<p>

"I like this," he says, looking around the room. "It's very you."

Sybil smiles as she moves towards him and hands him a glass. "Thank you," she replies. "Though it's not really mine. It's my grandmothers though she rarely uses the place."

She talks like an American too now, he's noticed - that perfect, cut-glass English accent is still there, but the words she uses are something else entirely.

Like everything else about this place, it suits her.

"Why did you run away?" he asks as she sits down on the sofa beside him, tucking one leg underneath her casually. "Why did you leave?"

Sybil sighs. "I didn't run away," she replies. "And I told you why I had to go… I needed to get away from all those old ghosts and sort myself out before I could make any rational decisions about my future."

"So the fact that you were pregnant had nothing to do with it."

"I didn't even know at that stage… I did try to tell you once I found out, honestly."

"Evidently not hard enough."

She slams her glass down on the table then and gets to her feet, storming off towards her bedroom. Tom sighs and runs a hand through his hair - he's clearly touched a nerve and feels quite bad about it, and so he just decides to finish his drink and leave.

It's only when she comes back with a box in her hand that he changes her mind.

"Oh I tried," she says. "These are just the ones I didn't burn. I kept them in the hope that I'd have the courage to finish them one day, but I was scared… I as scared and I didn't know what to say. You can read them if you want, but they're all variants of the same thing really."

Tom takes the box from her and glances down at the papers inside. He doesn't need to read them to know that she''s telling the truth because he can see the lines and scribbles crossing out her immaculate script. Instead, he sets the box down and, catching her completely off guard, pulls Sybil into a tight embrace.

"Oh my darling," he whispers into her ear. "I've missed you so much."

She responds instinctively, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. "And I you… so very, very much. Now, tell me everything of home."

**_-xxx-_**

Just like old times, they sit talking into the early hours of the morning. He tells her of those he still writes to back at Downton, all about his family and how his younger sister recently married. She asks about Ireland and they start talking about politics - she's more educated than he is about things in America and he finds himself learning something from her.

"There's one thing I haven't asked," she says. "Which is strange because it's the most obvious question, but why are you here? In New York of all places?"

"I've been offered a job over here," replies Tom. "Well, sort of, the friend of a friend works at the New York Times and his editor wants to meet me. It could be something or it could be nothing, but it was time for a change either way."

"Tom, that's wonderful," she smiles. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," he replies. "Though I suppose it's my turn to ask the obvious question… is your daughter mine?"

Sybil's smile fades and she stares down into her glass. "The truth is, I still don't know," she says. "Even now after all these years. One minute, she's exactly like you and then the next I see Larry in her. I don't know about you, but it doesn't bother me in the slightest because she was born out of love either way… because, believe it or not, I did love you both. I loved you both in your own ways and I wouldn't change that for the world."

"Loved… past tense?"

Sybil sighs. "Oh, Tom, is that really all you took from that?" she says. "If you must know, I do still love you. But whether or not I'm still **in** love with you is another matter entirely. I just can't think about that sort of thing right now because Nora comes first."

Tom nods in understanding. "Her name is Nora?"

"It's short for Eleanor. Eleanor Martha Grace Crawley-Grey."

"I think you'll have to write that one down," he laughs. "But then posh people never do anything simply, do they?"

"As Granny would probably say, the aristocracy would never have lasted this long if we did."

"That wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"Oh, I don't know," she replies with a playful smirk. "If it weren't for the aristocracy, you and I would never have met."

"Touche."

'Indeed and, I don't know about you, but life would have been rather dull if we hadn't."

"Though perhaps a lot less complicated."

Sybil laughs. "Infinitely so… but do you regret it?"

"No, never."

"Well then I'm glad. Though I do have one last question… am I right in presuming there isn't a Mrs Branson and three boisterous yet incredibly charming children back in Dublin who will follow once everything his settled?"

"You would be."

"Has there been anyone?"

"One or two," he replies. "Though nobody I could imagine spending my life with. Foolishly, I was clinging on to the dream that you and I would someday cross paths again… I still love you, Sybil. I always have done, and nobody else has ever come close. I understand that you have a daughter to think of and of course she comes first, but I've waited all these years in the hope that I'd see you again and I'll wait forever for you to love me again too, if you ever could, that is. The only think I ask is that you don't lead me on. If things can't be the way that they were then you must tell me, for both our sakes."

"Things can never be the way that they were," Sybil says. "Everything is different now. The world has changed, **we** have changed… but I'm not asking for forever, because I'm certain that there is still a chance for us. We just have to take each day as it comes."

He wants to kiss her then, but he's not too sure how she would react. She holds his gaze though and he can hear her breathing starts to quicken. His mind is torn but he doesn't know what to do - it's too soon for this and they have too many old ghosts to bury first.

Mercifully, he is saved as the clock on the mantlepiece chimes two.

"I didn't realise how late it was," he says. "I should go, it's been a long day."

The two of them get to their feet before Tom takes hold of Sybil's hand, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles. "Goodnight, milady."

She laughs at the touch of nostalgia. "Goodnight, Branson… sweet dreams."

"Of you, always."

And, with that, he climbs back out of the window and disappears into the night.

When he's gone, Sybil doesn't know what else to do other than lock herself in her bedroom and cry herself to sleep.

**_-xxx-_**

As the days and weeks wear on, they don't really see each other much, especially seeing as how Tom seems to be working round the clock to impress the editor at the New York Times. They'd decided to offer him a trial period of sorts and, having no previous experience of professional journalism, he was finding it to be quite the challenge. Thank God for Sybil though, as he'd come to learn that she has developed something of a talent for baking and he'd often arrive home late in the evening to find a slice of cake waiting for him. At first, he struggles to find a way to express his gratitude but then an unexpected piece of news presents him with the perfect opportunity to say thank you.

She's on the telephone when he climbs through the window into her apartment, a bright smile on her face as she talks to who he can only imagine to be Nora.

"I know, I miss you too, my darling. But it's only a few more days and I'm very excited to see you," she says. "Now, go to bed or Father Christmas won't be coming… goodnight, I love you."

She puts the receiver down and turns her attention to Tom at last once she's said her goodnights to Nora. "She likes to talk," she tells him. "I think she's been spending too much time with Grandmama."

"Do you miss her?"

"Every day," she replies. "But she'll be having an absolute ball up there. I wanted to stay, but Grandmama suggested I come back to New York and have some time to myself."

"You deserve it. I can't imagine that it's been particularly easy."

"It hasn't, but being a mother is one of the most rewarding things I think I've ever done with my life… what have you got there?" she asks, changing the subject slightly.

He holds up the bottle of champagne and two mugs that he's holding and there's a blanket draped over his arm. "Get your coat," he says. "It's cold out."

"Where are we going."

"It's a surprise."

She returns with her coat and a pair of gloves and follows him back out of the window and up the stairs. She lives on the top floor of their building and so the only thing above them is the roof…

Which, as it turns out, is his intended destination.

She's never seen the city like this before and she finds it all rather magical. "I didn't even know that you could come up here."

"I come up to write sometimes," he says. "My brain gets quite fogged if I sit in one place for too long and it's amazing what some fresh air can do. I knew you'd like it."

"It's beautiful. But why are we here?"

"Celebrating. I have news."

"Go on."

He pops the cork on the bottle of champagne - he's never tasted the stuff before but there's no better time to try it and nobody else he'd rather share this experience with. "They offered me the job. They're going to start publishing my articles as of next week."

The force of her hug almost knocks him off his feet, but he manages to wrap his free hand around her waist. "Does this mean you're happy for me?"

"Happy? I'm absolutely delighted!"

She lets him go long enough for him to pour some of the champagne into the mugs he's brought up with him. "I'm sorry it's not the fine crystal you're used to, but I've never really had much cause to own that sort of thing."

"Well that will all change now that you're destined to become a famous writer. You'll have parties every weekend and know absolutely everybody."

"You're getting ahead of yourself, love," he laughs, neither of them batting an eyelid at his term of endearment - it's just so easy to slip back into old habits. "What happened to taking each day as it comes?"

"There's no harm in dreaming big. You did, and look at where you are now."

"So what is your dream?"

"Is it cliched just to say that I want to be happy?"

"Not at all," he smiles. "Now, how about a toast?"

"To a future worth having."

"To a future worth having," he repeats. "I'll drink to that."

He's not quite sure how to describe the taste of champagne but if he had to compare it to anything then it would be her kisses. It reminds him of her kisses because it takes him by surprise at first and it makes him want to taste more. The second time, he gets a hint of sweetness, it's bubbly and it makes him feel light and perhaps even a little bit giddy.

And, of course, it's incredibly high class.

"Tom."

"Mmmm?"

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

He shrugs. "I'll probably just stay here and get some work done."

Sybil shakes her head. "I won't have that. I don't want you to be on your own. Come with me up to Grandmama's"

"Won't she mind?"

"Of course not," she replies. "She always invites absolutely everybody so there will be lots of people there. Oh, please say you'll come."

He gives the idea a moment's thought. It unnerves him a little, but then coming to New York was supposed to be all about experiencing new things and so he decides to bite the bullet. "Alright," he agrees. "So long as it's not going to be a problem."

"It won't be. We can talk about the details another day but, for tonight, let's do nothing. Let's just stay here, lie back and look at the stars… because it's such a beautiful night and we should make the most of it."

So they spend the night doing just that, and Tom comes to realise that he's more in love with her than ever before.

**_-xxx-_**

Whilst not as big as Downton, Martha Levinson's sprawling country estate is still a sight to behold. The day before Christmas Eve, Tom and Sybil take the train up to Southampton and arrive just before luncheon.

He steps out of the car first, stepping to one side and offering a hand to help her out and she teases that old habits clearly die hard. They're greeted at the door by Martha's butler who informs them that the lady of the house and her Uncle Harold are having tea in the library. They've barely shed their coats when the sound of footsteps racing down the stairs.

"Mama! Mama!"

Sybil positively glows with happiness as she sweeps Nora up into her arms. "There's my girl," she says. "Goodness, have you grown."

Nora nods. "Missed you, Mama."

"I missed you too, my darling."

Tom watches with an affectionate smile as Sybil places a loving kiss to her daughter's wild curls, so very much like hers. He'd only had to take one look at her for him to know deep in his heart just who she belongs to…

She isn't his.


	29. Testing the Waters

**_The prompt for day 29 is "Trenches" - Sorry I haven't updated in a few days, it's been a busy week. I will finish this weekend though and, hopefully, it's ben worth the wait. Enjoy :) x_**

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><p>Nora watches this strange man in fascination - he seems quiet and shy and doesn't really talk to the other grownups, but she can tell that Mama likes him and so she likes him too. They don't seem to mind when he gets up to look at the books, but she does and she doesn't want him to be on his own.<p>

It doesn't take Tom long to realise that he's got himself a shadow and he crouches down to greet his new little friend.

"Hello," he says quietly, holding out his hand to her. "You're Nora, aren't you? I'm Tom."

Nora takes his hand and he's amazed at just how small it is in his own. "Hello, Mr Tom."

He can't help but smile - she is Sybil in miniature and she melts his heart. "Do you like books? Because I do, very much."

"Yes," Nora replies, suddenly coming across rather shy.

"Would you like to read with me?"

The little girl nods and he gets to his feet, picking out a book from the shelf. "Do you mind?" he asks, turning to Sybil.

She shakes her head. "Of course not. Be good, darling."

"If she's not then she only takes after her Mam," he teases, suddenly forgetting for a moment that they have company.

Sybil blushes and averts her gaze, focusing on her teacup as she tries to hide her smile. The look on her face doesn't go unnoticed by her grandmother, who watches him leave the room and decides that she can't hold her tongue any longer.

"A very nice young man you have yourself there."

"He is nice, but he's not my young man," Sybil replies. "He's just a friend and a very good one at that."

Martha raises an eyebrow at her youngest granddaughter. "Sybil, darling, if a man looks at a woman the way he looks at you then he's more than a friend. Or he has every intention of being so."

"I am fond of him," Sybil admits. "But I'm not ready for any sort of commitment. At least I don't think that I am… but you must promise not to mention him to Mama."

"Why not? I think she'd be delighted to hear that you have a chance at being happy at last."

"Because… he used to be the chauffeur."

**_-xxx-_**

She'd told her grandmother everything then - well, not quite everything, there are some things that would shock even a liberal woman such as Martha - but it felt good to finally get most of it off her chest. In the end, Martha's advice had been simple - she'd told her not to think of herself, of Nora, of her family or anything at all. She'd told her to trust her instinct and listen to what her heart was telling her. Men like Tom, with their brains, determination, and innovation were the future, whilst those like Larry were very much a thing of the past. The aristocracy was on the decline and the age of the common man was dawning.

She'd even gone so far as to say that Tom reminded her of her own dearly beloved husband.

And that really is a compliment.

Knowing that Tom had taken Nora into the drawing room, Sybil decides to check up on them both before going up to change for dinner. The sight that greets her melts her heart but at the same time con jours up images of a future that could have been. Tom is lounging across the settee, his jacket discarded somewhere and shirtsleeves rolled up, fast asleep with Nora also dozing against his chest.

She runs her fingers through Tom's hair, pushing it back from his face as she leans in to kiss his forehead - it's much softer now that it isn't slicked back with pomade and she loves how soft it feels between her fingers. He stirs under her touch, impossibly long eyelashes fluttering open as he wakes.

"Hello," she smiles. "Must have been an interesting book you were reading."

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves. Engels might be a bit much for a three-year-old," he jokes.

Sybil laughs. "Maybe try John Stuart Mill first."

"I'll remember that… what time is it?"

"Almost seven," Sybil tells him. "I was just on my way up to dress for dinner. I think I should probably put Nora to bed first though."

"Let me," Tom says as she tries to take the sleeping girl from him. "I don't mind."

He follows her up the stairs and towards the nursery, the pair of them effortlessly dancing around each other as they manage to put her into bed without waking her.

"What's wrong?" Sybil asks, seeing the look on Tom's face as he he watches Nora sleep.

He sighs wearily before turning his back on her and heading towards the door. "Nothing… it doesn't matter."

She checks on Nora one last time before dimming the light (she's afraid of the dark) and following Tom into the hall, taking hold of his hand to make him stop as she catches up with him. "Clearly it does matter. Darling, tell me."

"She isn't mine… Nora… I'm not her father."

"How can you be so sure?"

"It sounds strange," he replies. "But she doesn't have my eyes. Every child born in my family for generations has the same eyes… and they're all yours."

"Well every family needs a rebel," Sybil says, trying to make light of the situation as her thumb subconsciously caresses his knuckles.

Mercifully, Tom laughs. "A fair point, but there's just something… a feeling, more than that perhaps… that just tells me she isn't."

"And does it matter?"

"No," he replies before he's even had the chance to think about it. "Not as much as I thought it would. Because she's smart, beautiful and has such a big heart. She's a part of you and I love every single inch of you, Nora included and I've only spent a single afternoon with her. You said that you were proud of me, after everything that I've achieved in the years since we last saw each other, but that's nothing compared to what you've done… Nora is… amazing… you're such a wonderful mother, Sybil. You should be so proud of yourself."

Tearfully, she brings a hand to his cheek and looks into his eyes - how lucky she is, that this truly wonderful man has come back into her life at long last. She'd told him that she wants to take things slow, but her love for him in this very moment is stronger than it's ever been before.

"Tom, I…"

"I'm sorry, milady," comes the sound of the nanny's voice as she bustles towards them. "There's chaos down in the kitchen, I almost forgot Miss Nora's bedtime."

Sybil practically jumps away from Tom. "It's alright, Austen," she says with a smile, wringing her hands together. "I've already seen to it. No need to worry."

Austen bows her head. "Thank you, milady."

She turns her attention back to Tom once the nanny is once again out of sight. "I should go and get ready," she says. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Yes… of course. I should go too."

It's an awkward parting, but this certainly isn't over.

**_-xxx-_**

This isn't the first time she's suffered from insomnia and, at one point, it had been so bad that her mother had called for the doctor - she still has the little glass bottle of pills which sit on her bedside table. She stares at them as she lies on her side in the darkness, waiting and waiting and waiting for sleep to come.

Once again, Tom Branson is to blame.

She thinks of him, of the way he was with Nora and how he'd told her that he was proud of her.

Nobody has ever been proud of her, or at least they haven't ever said it aloud.

She called him "darling". He called her "love". She'd held his hand and almost kissed him. He'd told her that he loves her and, most importantly, that he loves Nora too.

But, not for the first time, she thinks of Larry.

She thinks of him, sitting in the trenches - that awful hell that none of the ones who made it home ever seem to talk about - writing that letter to her and knowing that each day could be his last. As hard as it is for some people to believe it, she really had loved him- Sybil was one of the few who got to see past all the bravado and the facade he liked to put on when out in society. She remembers one morning when she'd seen him at his most vulnerable, as they'd lay awake as the first rays of sunlight crept in through the windows, and he'd told her everything - he'd told her the truth about how awful it was over there, of some of the things he'd seen and done and how he was actually afraid that he would never truly come home. She'd told him not to be silly, but he'd been so convinced and then he'd told her the one thing she seemed to have forgotten until now…

He'd told her to be happy.

He hadn't wanted her to mourn, at least not forever, and deep in her heart she knows that she has to start looking to the future rather than clinging to the past. Her metamorphosis has already begun and it had the day she'd picked up the scissors and cut off her own hair (she'd made a terrible mess of it but, thankfully, a dear friend had a maid who was an absolute genus and managed to fix it), but there is one last thing she needs to do before her heart can truly be whole again.

She has to tell Tom that she loves him.

**_-xxx- _**

Tom too is still wide awake, but he's been staring at the same page of his book for what feels like hours now. He's just about to turn off the light when there's a gentle knock at his door and in steps Sybil before he can ask who's there.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, closing the door behind her. " I saw the light on and presumed that you were still awake."

"It's alright," he replies. "I don't think I'll be sleeping any time soon. Is everything alright?"

Sybil nods. "Fine," she tells him. "Though I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither… come here."

Nervously, she moves towards him, crawling into bed and instinctively curling into his side as he pulls the duvet around them. Once she's settled, he turns out the light and the pair of them lie there in the darkness - if neither of them can sleep then it seems there's no use in being alone. Tom wraps his arms tighter around her as she caresses the bare skin of his forearm.

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't even know where to start."

"That's alright," replies Tom. "We have all night… I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't say that," says Sybil. "Please don't make me promises that you can't keep. Everybody leaves in the end."

Tom sighs. "Oh, _a rúnsearc,_" he says, knowing just what it is she's alluding to. "The war is over. They can't take me away from you like they took him… I'm still so very, very sorry for what happened, but that's all behind us now."

"That word… you've said that before. A term of endearment from home?"

Tom nods. "Literally, it means secret love… rather apt, wouldn't you agree? But, really, it's a very passionate way of saying that you are my beloved."

"And how many women have you called your beloved before?"

"None."

"And after me?"

"None."

"You really do love me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Oh… well then I suppose it's a good thing that I love you too."

The pair of them laugh then in a sudden burst of happiness, eyes meeting in the darkness as they compose themselves once more. Her hand snakes across his chest, seeking out the beating of his heart beneath his shirt. Slowly, they are drawn to each other in a kiss that begins soft and tender, almost experimental in a sense, as they test the waters of once dangerous territory.

At last, everything seems calm and it's time to jump in with both feet…


	30. The Meaning of Love

**_The prompt for day 30 is "Definition" - These chapters have taken me so much longer than a day but 1) I've been mega busy; and 2) they're a lot longer than the previous ones because I'm starting to wrap things up. Only one more chapter after this and I hope you'll be happy with the ending... oh, and this chapter has a little bit of an 'M' rating, if you catch my drift (*wink wink nudge nudge*). Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

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><p>She looks down at him lovingly as she straddles him, rocking her hips against his growing arousal as he relinquishes complete control to her. She leans in to kiss him, moaning softly as he playfully catches her bottom lip between his teeth, his hands sliding down her hips, to her thighs and back up again under the fabric of her nightgown. Neither of them want to rush this - it's been too long in the making and it's taken so much sacrifice to get to this moment. They couldn't have known that they would ever find their way back to each other again and it's as though an unspoken vow has been made between them to treasure every single second of their time together.<p>

"Oh, Tom," she sighs as his lips caress her throat, her skin smooth and pale as porcelain. They're both still clothed, a problem soon resolved with a bit of awkward fumbling and shuffling which makes them laugh like a pair of naughty schoolchildren up to no good…

Except they aren't children, far from it in fact.

And, this time, there is nothing to feel ashamed of.

He hadn't thought it possible that she could become even more beautiful - she is absolutely radiant and he is completely lost in her. He whispers her name into her ear, gently tugging at her earlobe with her teeth, whilst his hands snake across her hips, up her ribcage and to her full breasts.

"Please," she begs as he teases her nipple and rocks her hips against him, moaning loudly as he enters her. She pushes him down so that he's flat on his back, moving with him and their lips meet in a desperate, passionate kiss. Together, they roll to the side, shifting their positions so that he's now the one in complete control. She moans and arches her hips upwards, mirroring his every move, encouraging him to go harder and deeper just the way she likes it. She bites her lip in a desperate attempt to stop herself crying out and waking up whoever it is that sleeps next door, buries her head further into the pillow and tugs at the sheets. She needs more of him and wraps her arms around him, hands caressing his back and broad shoulders, her nails digging into the soft flesh so hard that she's sure she'll draw blood, marking him as hers forever.

She's lost and he knows that he will soon follow - his kiss muffles her scream as she comes apart beneath him. His body tenses and he moves once, twice, three times more before his own orgasm consumes him.

Neither of them know whether minutes or hours have gone by as they hold each other in the aftermath of their lovemaking. It's only when Sybil rolls over so that she's facing him that Tom realises she's been crying.

"What's wrong?" he asks, bruising away her tears with his thumb. "My darling, tell me what's the matter."

She shakes her head as she tries not to worry him. "Nothing's wrong," she says. "Nothing at all… quite the opposite, really."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because I never thought I'd ever remember what it feels like to be in love."

Tom chuckles. "What happened to taking things slowly?"

Sybil looks up at him and smiles. "I said that we should take each day as it comes at us, that's not the same as taking things slowly. It just so happens that today, I wanted to tell you that I love you."

"That's the third time that you've said that now."

"And I plan to say it at least once a day for the rest of our lives… I didn't tell my husband enough. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure that I told him at all. I'd like to think that he knew, but I don't want to take any chances this time."

"So, are you saying that you and I have a future together?"

"I am, and a very long one at that," she replies, reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes. "Though these past few years have taught me that nothing is ever certain, but I'm game if you are."

She giggles as he unexpectedly rolls on top of her, balancing his weight on his strong forearms and looking down with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Then let the games begin."

**_-xxx-_**

When Tom had been in service at Downton, it had been tradition for the family to present their staff with gifts at Christmas - a small token of appreciation for their efforts during the year. It was clear to him that Sybil had always had some sort of input to his gift and he'd always tried to give her something in return, but he'd always worried that his presents could never compare to the glittering jewels and fine clothes that her family could give her, despite having come to know that Sybil didn't really care about any of those things. This year though, things are different and he's managed to find her something that's absolutely perfect. The only worry is that she'll misconstrue the meaning behind it, and that would be terribly awkward indeed.

No, it's best that he gives it to her alone.

Now, Nora on the other hand had been **much** easier to buy for. He'd strolled past F.A.O. Schwarz one evening on the way back from his office and a beautiful stuffed lion had caught his attention. It's mane was formed of wild dark curls that reminded him of Nora's and it's fallen in love with it in a matter of seconds. Nora too had been absolutely delighted as Sybil helped her undo the ribbon on the elaborately wrapped box.

"And what to we say to Tom?"

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Tom replies. "Now all he needs is a name."

Just as her mother has a tendency to do, Nora bites her lip as she thinks about her answer. "Tom."

Sybil laughs at the look on Tom's face and can't help but wonder whether her daughter is merely besotted by him or if she's had a momentary lapse of her usually vivid imagination. "A fine name," she says, reaching for another box and handing it to Nora before whispering something in her ear.

She jumps down from her mother's lap and toddles over to Tom to give him the box. "Happy Christmas, Mr Tom."

"Just a little something from the two of us," Sybil says. "And, before you start protesting, I'm certain that you'll find a practical use for it.

He can't explain why, but his hand starts to shake as he unties the ribbon - her gifts to him have always been beautifully presented, but there's something about this one that makes it seem extra special…

And, naturally, extra expensive.

Inside, there's a black leather-bound notebook and another smaller box containing the most exquisite fountain pen he's ever seen. The weight feels nice in his hand and he notices that it's engraved with his initials and the hallmark of a high-end New York jeweller.

"This is Tiffany's," he says, realising that the item he holds in his hand is worth more than he's ever earned in a single year. "This is too much…"

Sybil waves her hand in a way that he's seen the Dowager Countess do on several occasions. "Frivolous, I know, but think of it as an investment. They say that the pen is mightier than the sword, and you should have a faithful weapon in your armoury that lasts a lifetime. Oh and you should open the notebook too."

He smiles as he uncovers a note written on the first page in Sybil's handwriting. "Dearest Tom," he reads. "I knew from the day I first met you that you were destined to achieve great things. Fill these pages with all of your wonderful stories, anecdotes, and musings about the world we live in to be read and treasured for generations to come. Merry Christmas, my dearest friend… all my love, Sybil."

"And me too," comes a little voice, her hand tugging on his trousers.

"Thank you, both of you," he smiles, hoisting Nora up into his arms. "It means a lot."

From across the room, Martha watches them as she takes another question on how long her granddaughter and the charming Mr Branson have been married.

"They're not married at all," she replies. "Though I'd bet every dime that'll change soon enough."

**_-xxx-_**

He finds her sitting alone in the drawing room, curled up in the armchair with her feet bare and still in her evening gown as she reads the same copy of 'Dubliners' he'd given her several years previous. He greets her with a kiss, slow and lingering before kneeling down on the floor beside her.

"It's been a lovely day, hasn't it?" Sybil says as she sets down her book.

"It has, but my present really was too much."

"You're worth it," she replies. "Every cent."

Tom smiles at her before reaching into the inside pocket of his dinner jacket for something. "I have something for you too, but I didn't want to give it to you in front of everyone else so as to avoid gossip. Here… Merry Christmas."

It's a box, one big enough to contain a ring - a simple silver band wrought into the shape of a pair of hands holding a crowned heart - and her heart begins to race. This couldn't be a proposal, could it? Even by their standards it's too sudden and rash and, if it is, she honestly has no idea what she'll say.

"Tom…"

"It's not what you think it is," he replies. "I mean, it can be, but it's not. It's a _claddagh_ ring a token of love, loyalty and friendship in Ireland. Usually they're passed down from mother to daughter, but this one has a slightly more tragic story."

"Was it your mother's?"

Tom shakes his head. "No, Mam's went to Orlaith when she got married. I found this one in a pawnbroker's back in New York. The broker told me a story about how an elderly lady came in with the ring. Her only child, a son, had been killed during the war but he'd met a girl in France and he wanted to marry her. She kept the ring and wanted to send it to the girl as a way of remembering her son, but it was returned by her parents who told her that she too had died. She got the Flu and didn't have the strength to fight it. The old lady thought that it might have been a broken heart that killed her in the end."

"But why did she sell it? Did she not have nieces or sisters?"

"No family left that she knew of. She and her son survived the Titanic, her husband wasn't so fortunate."

"How tragic indeed," says Sybil sadly. "I feel quite lucky in comparison."

He nods in agreement. "But, apparently, what the lady did say was that she and her husband had been incredibly happy before he died. The ring had passed through his family for generations and she hoped that another would treasure it and create their own memories."

"And that starts with us?"

"And that starts with us."

**_-xxx-_**

They return to New York following Martha's elaborate New Year's Eve party where they'd danced all night, sampled new and exotic cocktails and made some new acquaintances in the form of the children and grandchildren of some of Sybil's grandmother's oldest friends. Nora had even been allowed to stay up late, but when Tom found her curled up under a table, cuddling Tom the Lion close to her chest, he'd put her to bed and promised that he'd see her next year.

They'd made their departure from Southampton having said their goodbyes and with the promise that they would return in the spring and that Martha would come to them in the city for Nora's birthday. Tom had gone up to his apartment, returning via the fire escape an hour or two later once Nora was tucked up in bed.

"Tom," Sybil says quietly, curled up against his naked chest after, yet again, one thing had led to another and they'd ended up making love on the floor in front of the fire. "I've been thinking."

"About what?"

"About my ring, and how it doesn't mean what I probably thought it means… but, what if I wanted it to?"

"What are you saying?"

She rolls over and props herself up on her elbow. "What I'm saying is that I want to marry you…no, I'm asking you to marry me."

Tom smirks mischievously. "Ask me properly."

"Fine," she sighs. "Marry me, make me the happiest woman alive and every other romantic cliche that there is?"

He laughs and she feels it deep in his chest. "Aye, go on then… seeing as how nobody else will probably have you."

She digs him playfully in the ribs before leaning in for a kiss, sealing their engagement and the beginning of a bright and beautiful future.

This, Sybil thinks to herself, is what love is. Love isn't always perfect, it's not a fairytale and it doesn't always come easily. It's about overcoming obstacles, facing challenges and fighting to be together. Love is about holding on and never letting go. Love, she muses, is a short word - it's easy to spell but difficult to define and completely impossible to live without. Love has the power to turn your whole world upside down, to make you act on impulse and give in to the impossible. It is an untamed force and is about accepting all the complexities and simplicities that come with it. It's been hard work to get to where they are, but every second, minute and hour has been worth it, despite all of the heartache.

She is so fortunate to have not only had the love of one man, but two. Life, she has learnt, is short and every moment is incredibly precious.

And she doesn't want to spend another second of it without Tom.

**_-xxx-_**

Their wedding was simple and without fuss and, **finally**, Mr Tom Branson and Lady Sybil Crawley-Grey were pronounced husband and wife— he'd sought the blessing of the one person who mattered and Nora had been thrilled that Mama wanted to adopt Mr Tom to be her big brother. After Sybil had cleared things up, Nora seemed to understand at last and together she and Tom had come to the agreement that he would become 'Da' whilst never letting their daughter forget her real 'Papa' and how he would have loved her very much too.

Those early months of marriage had been absolute bliss. They hadn't honeymooned, deciding to save it for when the time was right, and instead decided to enquire about buying a proper house. They'd both fallen in love with a charming brownstone on the Upper East Side though it was far more than they'd budgeted for. That being said, it was just like them to behave impulsively and they'd justified it to themselves by calling it an investment in their future.

And so it was that everything just seemed to fall into place at last.

It was about a week before they were due to move into their new home when a letter arrived in the morning post addressed to Sybil. She instantly recognised the handwriting as Edith's and there's a sudden stab of guilt at the thought that she hadn't told her family about her wedding (well, save for her grandmama whom she'd sworn to absolute secrecy).

"Edith's getting married," she says to Tom as he gives Nora her breakfast. "I have to go back to Downton…"


	31. Holding Onto Heaven

**_The prompt for day 31 is "Miracle" - I'm so sorry this has taken me so long but I've had a few "real life" issues to deal with recently which have gotten in the way of my writing. This chapter is almost 5,000 words though so I hope it makes up for it. It's also the LAST ONE so I'd just like to thank you all for your continued support throughout - it really does mean the absolute world to me. Anyway, one last time, enjoy and please know what you think :) x_**

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><p>Edith had opened up Sybil's invite to "<em>a guest of her choosing<em>" should she wish to bring anybody with her. Tom had been dubious at first, but seeing how afraid and nervous Sybil seemed about the whole affair, he had decided that he needed to get over his own insecurities and go along to support his wife.

She had been quiet from the moment they'd boarded the train in Liverpool, had said only a couple of words to him when they'd had to change at York, and merely held his hand tightly as the great house had loomed into view. This place holds so many memories for both of them, some good and some bad, but she can't help but fear that she won't be welcome and longer after she drops the bombshell that she's married the former chauffeur.

**Former** chauffeur…

She has to find a way to make them see that.

The Abbey is abuzz with excitement - Lady Edith is finally getting married and Lady Sybil is coming home at long last, bringing with her a gentleman friend and the charming little girl they've all heard so much about. Thankfully, Sybil's worst fears are not met and, instead of a whole lineup of servants, she sees only Carson and two footmen outside with her family.

"Dearest Papa," she smiles as she embraces her father. "It's so good to see you again."

"My darling girl," Robert says. "It's been too long."

She keeps hold of his hand as she beckons Tom over, leaving Nora to be fussed over by Cora and her sisters.

"Papa, this is Tom," she says, watching as the two men size each other up. If her father recognises him then he doesn't say it, though there's a curious look in his eyes and she's not sure if that means that he knows or not.

"Hello, Tom," Cora smiles as she comes up behind them, Nora clinging to her hand having decided that she really rather likes this new Grandmama. "It's a pleasure to meet you. We've arranged tea in the library but, first, Alfred will take your things and show you your room…"

"No, Mama," Sybil cuts in. "That's really not necessary. You see, the thing is… well… Tom and I are married…"

**_-xxx-_**

As expected, the news goes down like a lead balloon.

"**Married**?" her mother asks in disbelief as they sit in the library, the tea long forgotten and beginning to turn cold. "But you didn't say anything. My mother never said anything of a beau."

"That's because I asked her not to," Sybil replies. "We wanted to do this on our own terms, without anybody else interfering."

"Is there a child?"

"Papa!"

"I don't see why it isn't a perfectly valid question," says Robert as he paces up and down in front of the fireplace. "You only seem to have known each other for five minutes."

"Well that's not entirely true."

"I wouldn't expect you to recognise me, Lord Grantham," says Tom. "I think it was rare that you ever saw anything but the back of my head." He'd meant it in jest, but now he's not so sure that the Earl understands his humour and now the fear sets in as he begins to realise.

"Good God… Branson?" He can't quite believe it - _Branson_. The bloody chauffeur, of all people? "All that time, you've been driving me about, bowing and scraping and seducing my daughter behind my back?"

"I don't bow and scrape!" Tom snaps. "And I didn't seduced anyone! Give your daughter some credit for knowing her own mind!"

Robert shakes his head in disbelief. "This is a folly! A ridiculous, juvenile madness!"

"Juvenile?!" Sybil cuts in. "Papa, I'm twenty-four years old… I married when I was eighteen, I have a daughter, I haven't been juvenile for quite some time."

"Sybil's right, Robert," says Cora. "I can't deny that I'm disappointed, but she's a grown woman and old enough to make her own choices."

"Thank you, Mama," Sybil says quietly, though she can't deny that the thought of having disappointed her parents actually really hurts. "And it's not madness or a folly either… I love him, and we do have a plan. Tom's a writer now, for the New York Times… he's doing rather well for himself. We have a house in the Upper East Side of the city. It's beautiful, with a big garden and plenty of room should anybody wish to come and visit… because you will all be welcome in my home and I just hope that my husband and I are in yours."

Her father sighs. "This will always be your home, but please don't expect me to accept this just now… excuse me."

The couple are left alone in the drawing room with her mother - Mary and Edith are off somewhere no doubt fussing over their niece, but Tom soon excuses himself too with the excuse that he needs to check on Nora.

"I am sorry, Mama," Sybil says sadly after several moments of complete silence. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Haven't you ever done something reckless for love?"

"I married your father," Cora replies sincerely. "I left home and married a man I barely knew a man who, back in those days, didn't love me but my fortune instead. I left my home and my family and, whilst it was all worth it in the end, it could have ended quite differently."

"I don't like the fact that I've disappointed you… I'd much rather you were angry like Papa."

"I'm disappointed in the fact that you didn't tell me. A mother should be there on her daughter's wedding day."

"I know, but there was nobody there. It was just Tom and I… we didn't feel the need for a fuss."

"I'm surprised my mother let you get away with that. She does love any excuse for a party."

Sybil laughs. "Oh she did try," she says. "Though she came round in the end… as I hope you will too."

"He's family now," her mother replies. "And that means an awful lot."

It's not really the answer she wanted, but it's a good place to start.

**_-xxx-_**

She pops in to see Edith after she's dressed for dinner and finds her sister sitting at her dressing table, staring blankly into the mirror as she toys with the stopper of a glass perfume bottle.

"What's wrong?" Sybil asks, closing the door behind her.

Edith sighs wearily. "Oh, nothing. Just some pre-wedding jitters I think."

"Everything will be alright. It's normal to feel a little bit nervous."

"You should know, you've done it twice."

There's very little warmth or mirth in Edith's voice and, suddenly, Sybil understands her sister's melancholy mood. "I didn't mean to cause trouble," she says. "I had no intention of coming back here to take the attention away from you…"

"You could have at least said something," Edith interrupts. "A letter or a telegram. Finally, something in this house is about me… and then you come home married to the chauffeur."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"No, people in this family never do," she says, reaching for her gloves and getting to her feet. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Edith…"

She gives her sister a moment or two to get downstairs before Sybil too leaves the bedroom, on;y to run into Mary in the hall.

"Are you going to shout at me too?"

Mary furrows her brow. "Darling, why would I do that?"

"Oh, because everybody else has. I deserve it, I know, but I had hoped people would be a little bit more welcoming."

"If it's any consolation, I'm happy to have you back."

"It's more than a consolation, it means the absolute world. But enough about me, you're absolutely glowing!"

Mary smiles and places a hand on her belly - she looks radiant in her sixth month of pregnancy with her second child and it's clear to Sybil that motherhood has mellowed her. "I think this one is a girl. Matthew seems certain it's a boy though it doesn't really matter to us either way. Eleanor is a delight, by the way."

"Nora," Sybil replies. "We call her Nora."

"We? I suppose by that you mean you and Branson… sorry, Tom."

"It's alright, I've learnt that I can't really expect everyone to be used to it right away."

'Give us time and I'm sure that we'll come to know him and value him as a part of the family. And you can count on Matthew and I for support during dinner."

Sybil rolls her eyes. "Oh Lord, I hadn't even thought about that," she says before giving a big sigh. "Come on, let's get it over and done with."

**_-xxx-_**

Under andy other circumstances, he probably would have made something of a good impression turning up to dinner in a perfectly tailored tuxedo and knowing how to navigate his way around the dinner table. Tom was the sort of man who could easily charm a room what with his charm and way with words…

But that's difficult when nobody will speak to you.

He'd never really been sure what to make of Lady Mary, for she always seemed so aloof and somewhat cold. Of course, Sybil had quite often told him stories that she was quite the opposite and, tonight, he'd started to see a little of that coming through. She and Matthew had asked him about his work, his experiences in Ireland during the fight for independence and what he and Sybil had planned for their return to New York. Lady Grantham had been involved in the conversation too for which he was thankful for, but that couldn't make him ignore the disapproving eyes of both his former employer and youngest sister-in-law.

"Are you still awake?" Sybil asks as they lie curled up together in the darkness. She has a particular fondness for sleeping on his right, head resting on his chest and her arm slung across his middle.

"Yes… I can't stop thinking."

"Me neither. I knew that this wasn't going to be easy and I expected my father to behave the way he did, but I can't bare the fact that Edith's so upset."

'She's probably just stressed over the wedding. You were an absolute nightmare the first time."

Sybil frowns. "I'm not quite sure how I should take that."

Her husband laughs. "What I meant is that there's just so much to be done and she probably doesn't feel as though there's enough time left. Don't take it personally, if the things you've told me are anything to go by then your sisters adore you. Your mother was surprisingly civil as well."

"Which just leaves Papa," she replies. "Though I never thought I'd hear you defending my family."

"It doesn't matter if they're lords and ladies or poor as church mice, family means more than anything in life. They'll come round and, when they do, I will welcome them with open arms."

"I do love you, so very much," she says. "And I still can't believe how lucky I am to have finally married you… I just thought I'd tell you that, seeing as how we seem to be getting sentimental tonight."

Tom laughs again and wraps his arms even tighter around her. "Go to sleep."

"I'll try," she says with a yawn. Needless to say, she's out cold within seconds.

**_-xxx-_**

Tom isn't there when she wakes up - that's nothing unusual in itself, for he often rises before she does and goes for a walk. He calls it a hangover from his days in service, when he'd have to be up before sunrise most mornings, even on weekends, and it's a habit he can't seem to break. Starting with the nursery, Sybil goes looking for him only to find that this too is empty, Nora gone from her bed and there's not sign of either she or Tom anywhere.

Again, this is nothing that particularly concerns her.

She thinks about trying the kitchen, it's early and the servant's won't be up yet and she's often found the two of them making breakfast together. There is, however, something pulling at her that makes her gravitate towards the library and, pausing at the door, she hears a familiar voice reading aloud from a book of fairytales she recalls from her own childhood…

But it isn't Tom.

"Papa?"

Her father looks over at her before turning his attention back to his granddaughter. "We'll finish this later, shall we?"

Nora nods with a yawn before climbing off her grandpapa's lap and taking Tom the lion with her. "Morning morning, Mama," she says as she gets to the door.

"Morning morning?"

"Yes, because it's not nighttime anymore, so it's silly to say night nights."

Sybil laughs as she crouches down to her daughter's eye level and runs a hand over her dark curls. "Yes, very silly indeed. Go back to bed, darling, I'll come up in a bit."

"She's a wonderful child," Robert says once he and Sybil are left alone at last. "Very much like you when you were a girl."

She can't help but smile at her father's compliment - that and the fact that he's prepared to have a somewhat civilised conversation with her. "I'm immensely proud of her, though she grows up more and more every day and I can't help but fear that I'll blink and her whole childhood will have gone by."

"Then you understand what it means to be a parent," her father replies, moving over slightly on the settee to give her room to sit beside him. "Sometimes I feel like it was only yesterday that you and your sisters were in the nursery, and now today is the day I have to let the last of my girls go."

"Oh, Papa," Sybil sighs. "We'll never truly leave. This will always be our home and our family… and that matters more than anything in life."

"Very wise words."

"They're Tom's, actually."

Robert grows stern again at the mention of his new son -in-law. "Sybil, I'm only going to ask you this once and I hope that you'll give me an honest answer… did you or did you not have an affair when Branson was here as the chauffeur."

"Yes."

It's not the answer that he wanted but, deep in his heart, it's the one that he was expecting.

"I know that it's hard for you to understand, but he and I were very, very dear friends. A part of me had always known that he loved me, but I knew that nothing could come of it even if I had been sure that I felt the same. When Larry went away to war, I was desperately lonely. We argued and one thing led to another. I was ashamed, I loathed myself but, at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to regret it. Just days later I found out that my husband had been killed and Tom… well, he was just there. It only happened once or twice after that… and that's when I ran away. Not just because of him, but because of everything. It just seemed easier."

"You wouldn't be the first Crawley to make a mistake."

"A mistake?" she repeats and shakes her head. "No, it's not a mistake. He walked back into my life completely unexpectedly… and I've never been happier. It's unconventional, I know, but something tells me this has always been meant to be."

Robert nods - he can't even pretend to understand, but at least things are starting to make a bit more sense. "Is he Nora's father?"

"No, she's Larry's. I'm absolutely certain of that. We both are… though he loves her as dearly as if she were his own. I found them reading together, you know, just like the two of you were now. I'd give anything for you just to give him a chance, Papa, because he is a truly wonderful man and I know you've only ever wanted what's best for me… and what's best for me is him."

He reaches out and tucks her hair back behind her ear like he used to when she was a child. "Oh my dear girl," he says. "My very dear girl… I have missed you, so terribly much."

"And I you, Papa," Sybil replies, falling into his arms and a tight embrace that's more comforting to her than perhaps any she's ever known, purely for the fact that it reminds her of home. "So very, very much."

He kisses the top of her head then - this woman who is still very much his little girl - before getting to his feet. "Go back to bed, get some more sleep. Today is a big day."

"I will, just as soon as I've found Tom."

"Try the garage."

Sybil smiles brightly. "Of course, I can't believe I didn't think of that sooner. Thank you."

Her father merely nods his head. "Oh and, Sybil…"

"Yes?"

"Your hair, it suits you."

She can't help but laugh and, suddenly, everything is beginning to look right and good with her world at last.

**_-xxx-_**

Of course, Tom had been in the garage. He'd returned upstairs to their bedroom just after breakfast, frantically trying to scrub the oil from his hands so as not to stain the pristine white shirt he was to wear under his newly purchased morning suit (an unwelcome addition to what Sybil had teasingly called his "Downton wardrobe"). He didn't understand what his wife found so funny as he'd cursed in every language he knew and so, in the end, she'd finished getting herself ready and decided that it was time to make things up to Edith.

"You look so beautiful," she says as she slips round the door to join her mother, Mary and Anna in helping the bride-to-be get ready for the most important day of her life. "And I know you aren't really speaking to me, but I have something for you."

She hands Edith a small velvet box and watches as her sister's lips curl up into a smile when she opens it to reveal a stunning pair of diamond and sapphire earrings. "Thank you," says Edith quietly. "They're lovely."

"Grandmama gave them to me on my wedding day, so now I'm giving them to you."

"I remember these," Cora says. "My father gave them to her when we came to London for my first season. I thought they'd been lost a long time ago."

"I thought that many things had been lost a long time ago," Sybil replies, eyes fixed on Edith in a desperate plea for reconciliation. "But I'm starting to see that they can be found again."

Edith turns to face her youngest sister, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. I had no right to speak to you the way that I did. It isn't your fault… you've done nothing wrong. You fell in love and nobody can blame you for that."

Sybil smiles as she takes both of her sister's hands in her own. "I know that mine was a wild runaway marriage and this is one that everybody wanted, but what's so thrilling is that it's every bit as romantic."

Edith sniffles then as she tries to keep her tears at bay, which earns her an eye roll from Mary. "Oh for heaven's ask," she says. "Don't cry. You'll ruin your makeup."

The three of them laugh then, much to their mother's delight because it's a sound that she's missed in recent years - one may be still a Crawley, another a Branson and the third about to become a Strallan but, above all, they are sisters, and that is a love deeper and more true than that they could ever feel for any man.

**_-xxx-_**

Several days after the wedding, Sybil decides to pay her former in-laws a visit down at Haringham. Tom had been surprisingly fine at the idea of being left alone at Downton for a day or two, for he'd no doubt find something to keep his mind occupied and his blossoming friendship with Matthew meant that eh wouldn't be short of company. With that settled, she and Nora had taken the early train and were greeted at the station by Tim - now filling his late bother's shoes as Viscount Harningham - and the family chauffeur.

"It's good to see you again," he says, embracing the woman he would always look upon as a sister. "It's been quiet without you… and this must be my lovely niece."

"Nora, this is Uncle Tim, he's Papa's brother."

Nora looks at the strange man curiously before turning back to her mother. "Will you marry him too like Da?"

"Nora!"

Tim laughs. "Come on, let's go… they're waiting for you."

Naturally, Lord Merton dotes upon his firstborn grandchild - he's had the nursery reopened for the first time since Tim was a child and invited them to stay for as long as they wished. She'd written to him to tell him about Tom and, having lost his own wife several years before Larry had been killed, he understood her plight.

The difference between he and Sybil, however, was that she was still young and had a whole life ahead of her.

And who was he to begrudge her the chance to fall in love again?

He had told her as much and the way her face lit up had filled him with joy, but he has to admit that he's a little saddened when Sybil says that she has to return to Downton tomorrow at the very latest, for they'll be on their way back to New York by the end of the week, and he knows that she has come to Haringham with a sole purpose…

She has come to seek closure.

Late in the afternoon, just after tea, Sybil ventures into the village and down to the churchyard. Having always hated these places, she hasn't been here since the day of Larry's funeral but the path down to his grave is as familiar to her as any.

"Hello, it's me," she says quietly as she lays a small posy of wildflowers Nora had picked earlier in the day against the headstone. "I'm sorry it's been so long and… well… Gosh, I must sound so foolish because I'm not really sure how to do these sorts of things."

She looks around her and seeing that she's completely alone, she doesn't feel quite so self-conscious about standing here and seemingly talking to herself.

But she isn't.

She's talking to **him**.

"You know quite well that I don't really believe in God and heaven and all that sort of thing, but I'd like to think that you're still watching over me from somewhere. Not just me, but Nora too… your daughter is a delight, the most precious thing on this earth to me, and everybody adores her, just as I know you would have done. But that's not what I came here to tell you because I'm sure that you already knew that… what I came to tell you is that I'm in love again… very much so. His name is Tom, he used to be the chauffeur at Downton but he's a journalist now, a very good one indeed. I came here today because I need to know that you're alright with it, I need you to show me some sort of sign that you want me to be happy… that you know a part of me will always love you, no matter what…"

She hadn't even realised that she was crying and, while she hadn't expected the earth to move or to hear a deep booming voice from the heavens, she's a little disappointed that there isn't at least **something** that she can take as the sign she'd asked for.

But then she feels it.

A cool breeze nipping at her exposed skin and ruffling the ends of her hair peeking out from under the brim of her peacock blue cloche hat. She looks up to see a scattering of petals from the nearby blossom tree being carried on the wind…

And that is her sign.

It's a sign of spring, of new beginnings and fresh starts. The rational side of her brain knows that this is a mere coincidence, but the romantic thinks otherwise.

"Oh, thank you, thank you darling," she says, bringing her fingers to her lips before placing them on top of the stone. "I knew you'd understand."

And, with that, the old ghosts have been laid to rest at long last. Her conscience is clear and her heart filled with so much love that she feels she may burst.

Taking one last look at her first husband's grave, she bids him farewell and heads back up towards the house. Tomorrow it will be Downton and finally to home…

And the second husband whom she hopes she will be lucky enough to spend a lifetime with.

**_-xxx-_**

**4th July 1921**

She stands on the shores of the sea, stockings cast aside upon the sand as she stares out across the endless horizon. To the east lies home and the life she's long since left behind, choosing her freedom over accepting things going back to the way they once were before the war. America had drawn her like a moth to the flame - New York was bright and vibrant; the skirts were shorter, the morals were looser and the possibilities were endless. But Sybil Crawley's freedom had come at a price…

A hard sacrifice for a future worth having.

She had turned her back on everything - on her family, her friends, and the fight for the man that she loved.

She thinks of the tattered and torn copy of Dubliners that sits on her bookshelf, a treasured possession given to her by that same man for Christmas in 1916, of Eveline who had almost run off to Buenos Aries with her sailor beau. She wishes that she'd had the strength and the courage to escape with him when they'd had the chance but, like Eveline, there had been a sense of duty which had held her back. There had been too many people who needed her in the aftermath of everything that had happened, too many people on whom she had also relied…

And so they continued to keep it a secret, their game becoming more and more dangerous by the day until it had all become too much.

In the end, she had run away from it all and leaving him behind had been the hardest thing she'd ever had to do.

Her grandmother is throwing a lavish party in celebration of Independence Day but Sybil doesn't feel much like celebrating for this is a day that she faces with a heavy heart year after year…

For today marks the day that he died.

This will always be a difficult day for her, for she still misses Larry dearly, despite how happy a life with Tom has made her. He is her rock, her shining star, and had been her light in the dark when all hope had seemed lost…

And, despite facing their difficulties, she wouldn't change any of it for the world.

Almost as if he'd sensed she was thinking about him, Tom appears seemingly out of nowhere and moves to stand behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her and keeping her warm in the chilly sea breeze.

"Come back inside," he whispers into her ear. "The party's not the same without you."

She smiles and leans into his embrace. "Just one more minute," she says. "I needed some time alone."

Tom sighs. 'Of course, I'm sorry, I forgot what day it was."

"That's alright," she replies. "I don't mean to be so melancholy."

He kisses her temple. "Take as long as you need. We'll understand."

Sybil turns to face him, bringing her arms up around his neck and taking a moment to admire how incredibly handsome her husband looks in his finely tailored linen suit and the pale blue shirt that brings out the colour of his eyes. "I'm fine, really… I'm ready."

"To come back?"

"To let go."

"Don't ever let go," he replies, resting his forehead against hers. "Don't ever forget. Your past makes you who you are and I love you even more because of it."

"Shakespeare?" she teases.

"No, Branson."

"Talented fellow, by the sounds of it, I'll have to keep an eye out for him."

"Terrible scoundrel though. Has a habit for seducing girls far too good for him."

Sybil smiles up at him. "Then I suppose it's a good job I am a woman and his equal."

"And God knows I'm glad of it."

He kisses her then, slow, lingering yet every bit as passionate as the one they'd shared this very night several years earlier, the spark that had lit the flame of things to come.

"I love you," he says. "So very, very much."

"And I you, forever and a day," Sybil replies, holding out her hand to him. He takes it into his own and, together, they walk back along the beach and into a bright and beautiful future…

Together.

It has often been said throughout the course of this tale that she doesn't believe in God and miracles and all the rest of it but, in Tom, Sybil Branson has found her own little piece of heaven…

And she will hold onto that, as she'd said, forever and a day.


End file.
